


Fragments

by koalathebear



Series: Fragments Prism [7]
Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:19:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just fragments/little chapters that are all set during and after episode 3.12 The Star.  Seeing how remarkably calm Carrie was at the end of The Star made me think that she pulled through the trauma with the help of her family and of Quinn.  Who else could it have been?  Saul wasn't around and she doesn't have anyone else for support - so it really had to have been her family and Quinn.  Some fragments will be shorter than others and I'll scribble them as and when they occur to me.  Prompts/requests are most welcome.  Each fragment is not a chapter in the formal sense - just missing scenes and conversations that I'm putting under the one umbrella fic instead of splitting them into lots of different ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragment: Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn finds out about the treachery of Lockhart, Dar Adal and Scott Ryan.

Quinn walks into Saul's office without knocking. The office is already empty, all of Saul's personal effects packed away with no reminders of Saul's time in the position of Acting Director. 

Saul sits alone in the darkness in his chair and is staring down at his empty desk at nothing. The room is almost buzzing with the rage emanating out of the Acting Director.

"Saul – what the _fuck_ is going on? Someone's ordered the helos back from Herāt – the whole extraction has been cancelled." 

There is no response so Quinn reaches out his hand to turn on the light.

"No. Leave the light off, Peter," Saul says harshly. 

"What's going on?" Quinn demands. "We've been busting our asses to put this extraction package together and - "

"At the rest of sounding melodramatic – we are betrayed."

"What?" the younger man demands, clearly impatient with Saul's theatrics. "Get to the point, Saul – we're running out of time."

"Javadi was put in charge of the manhunt. To look strong and to bolster his chances of being chosen to replace Akbari, he needs to arrest Brody."

"All well and good but he is still the natural successor to the position," Quinn points out with a frown.

"Brody arrested is better for us than Brody back in America and better for Javadi's chances to lead the IRGC," Saul parrots mechanically in a voice that hardly sounds like his.

"Saul – where you going with this? I was here when you told me that we were getting them out."

"And I meant it. Brody's done what we asked him to do and we should do what is right by him. Unfortunately, I'm only one person."

There was a long silence.

" _Fuck!_ " Quinn exclaims violently. "Someone's given Carrie and Brody up to Javadi?"

Saul nods slowly. 

"Who's fucked us over, Saul? Tell me?"

"Lockhart. Dar Adal – that little prick Scott Ryan. They claim to be acting in our best interests – that this way, at least Carrie will be safe."

"First of all, Brody has been through hell and back to complete the mission. Secondly – do you have any idea what it will do to Carrie?" Quinn demands.

"I am aware, Peter. Most aware," Saul's voice is exhausted and his shoulders are slumped in exhaustion. "Lockhart has obtained presidential support for him to seize control of the reins – he's in charge now … not me."

"Jesus Christ, Saul."

"They gave Javadi the location of the safe house …"

"So what now?"

"Brody is in Evin Prison … he appeared before a military tribunal where he was declared an enemy of the state and has been sentenced to death by hanging – a public execution."

"And Carrie?"

"Javadi's got her. She's safe," Saul says tersely.

"There is nothing we can do," Quinn says tonelessly. It is not a question.

"Absolutely nothing."


	2. Fragment: Brody's Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn stares at the screen, knowing that Carrie, foolhardy as ever, must be somewhere in the crowd watching Brody die.

Everyone in the room is standing and staring at the monitor as if hypnotised. Brody's body is hanging from the crane. 

The crowd is cheering … the sound ghoulish and harsh as they applaud the spectacle.

Brody swings and they can see the slight twitching and seizing as the life starts to leave his body. Quinn stares at the screen, knowing that Carrie, foolhardy as ever, must be somewhere in the crowd watching Brody die. _Carrie get the fuck out of there_ he screams in his mind, wishing that he could be there so that she does not have to go through this agony alone. Brody's body gives a final tremor before it slumps and is limp.

"Goddamn sonofabitch," he hears Saul whisper in a harsh, broken voice. "Goddamn you all to hell, goddamn you all …" Saul mutters, slumping into a seat, elbows on the table and his head slumped into his hands. He has aged overnight. It is a victory but there is only bitterness, no sweetness.

"You know we had no choice," Dar Adal murmers and Quinn resists the urge to punch him in the face. 

"This is our fault – we are responsible," Saul says, rising to his feet and staring at Lockhart, Dar Adal and then Ryan. He leaves the room and the door closes behind him loudly.

Ryan removes his headset and puts it on the table, his face sober. He is careful to avoid eye contact with anyone in the room.

Lockhart stands in the corner, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected but he is clearly shaken.

"Never ordered the death of another human, have you, sir?" Quinn asks him.

"Peter!" Dar Adal's voice is sharp.

"I did not order anyone's death," Lockhart blusters, looking very defensive.

"As far as I can see, you're directly responsible for the death we just witnessed. Never watched a man die before, have you?" Quinn asks him grimly. "I have … and when you're responsible for it – it stays with you forever."

"Peter, that's enough," Dar Adal tells him angrily.

Quinn doesn't even give him the courtesy of looking at him.

"I want the details of how we're getting Carrie out of Tehran. Now."


	3. Fragment: Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn warns Carrie's family that she is returning to the country and will be in need of support given recent traumatic events. He wants to help.

Maggie Mathison's hands twist together nervously. He can see the similarity to her sister although she has an air of serenity that is completely lacking in Carrie.

Beside her, her father Frank Mathison stares at him accusingly with a fierce glare that is filled with mistrust. They are sitting in the kitchen at Maggie's house. Quinn's cup of tea sits before him on the table, untouched. He has other things on his mind.

"Son … Mr Quinn."

"Peter," he tells him.

"Peter, we appreciate you coming and telling us that Carrie will be back soon but we've handled her health crises before and we will handle this one." Frank Mathison's face is thin and drawn and he has the certain nervous, almost twitchy energy of his younger daughter. 

"It will be different this time, sir," he says courteously, gently. 

There is sudden comprehension in Maggie's face and her eyes fill with tears.

"Is it Brody?" When Quinn says nothing, her mouth trembles. "It's all right – I know the drill. It's classified, you can't tell me …" 

Quinn nods slowly and regretfully. "I am very sorry, Dr. Mathison …"

"Call me Maggie," she tells him. "When will she be back?"

"We're expecting her back tomorrow night. She'll have to be in debriefings for several hours after that. She'll need your support."

"I hardly think we need to be reminded of that," Frank exclaims blustering even though worry is in his eyes. Quinn feels a stab of pity for the older man, so full of bravado yet completely helpless to really assist.

"I know you will of course give her every support, sir," he says quietly. "But after what Carrie's just gone through … not only is she going to need time to rest and recover … she may need to talk about things that have happened - and she needs someone that she can talk to."

"My daughter can always talk to me."

"You don't have the appropriate security clearance," Quinn reminds him. "There's no guarantee that Carrie will want to talk to me, but I'd like to give it a shot."

"Peter … this thing that has happened. I'm guessing it's very traumatic?" Maggie asks.

Quinn nods. "Extremely so, Maggie," he tells her gravely.

Maggie closes her eyes. "As you are clearly well-aware, stress can exacerbate bipolar disorder and trigger an episode… uncontrolled stress can lead to dangerous manic or depressive symptoms. To avoid fetal damage, Carrie's currently on as light a dose of medication as possible so she is more vulnerable than usual to stress … "

"That's what I'm worried about," he tells her. 

Maggie's hands twist together and Quinn feels sudden pity for her. First her father, then her Carrie … it couldn't be easy to be the single 'healthy' adult in the family responsible for overseeing the mental health of parent and sibling.

"Peter – your offer of assistance is appreciated. Ordinarily, we do keep all of this in the family … but with Carrie's pregnancy, we really need all the help we can get."

"You got it," he promises her and as she stares into his steady gaze, she can tell that he is completely serious.

"What exactly is your relationship to my daughter?" Frank demands.

"We're co-workers," he explains. 

"A very caring co-worker," Frank says suspiciously.

"Sort of friends … I care about Carrie."

"Carrie doesn't really do friends," Maggie says with a grimace. "It's partially the illness … it's hard for people to get close … to understand and forgive."

"I've seen her when she's pretty bad," Quinn says briefly and there's a look of dawning comprehension on Maggie's face.

"You were at her hearing …"

He nods. "Yes. Now what can we do to minimise risk for her when she gets back?"


	4. Fragment: The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small fragment to address Carrie's return to the US after the Tehran mission. It's my own speculation that Saul walks out in disgust before Carrie gets back - it kind of explains why Carrie hasn't been returning his calls. It also makes me realise that with Saul gone - Carrie doesn't really have any allies or support other than Quinn.

Waiting impatiently on the tarmac, Quinn sees that Scott Ryan is standing a short distance from him, presumably to assist in herding Carrie straight into her debrief. 

The older man deliberately avoids his gaze. They've worked together well on operations previously and before the tragic Tehran mission, Quinn had regarded Ryan as a decent sort – calm, methodical and conscientious. 

Now, knowing that Ryan was complicit in the plot to deliver Nicholas Brody to his execution in Tehran means that Quinn can no longer see Ryan in the same light.

Nearby, Lockhart and Dar Adal are standing side by side. The two of them have become nauseatingly cosy in the last 24 hours. Partners in crime, allies of circumstance – the world has become a much darker and terrifying place.

Quinn has absolutely no idea what he's going to say to Carrie about Brody, about Saul - about anything. To his horror, he's the only one left to actually help her pick up the pieces. After making sure that Carrie's exfil was in progress, Saul calmly told Lockhart in several languages to go and fuck himself. He then left the room and the building and despite all of Quinn's frantic phone calls and phone messages, shows absolutely no intention of resurfacing. 

He does not know what to expect. Maggie has told him that Carrie has her medication with her but it's anyone's guess if she has actually been taking it. Even if she has been taking it, given the lower dosage, there are no guarantees that the stress of the last few days have not had a harmful effect on her mental health.

When the plane finally lands and the doors open, Quinn looks up and sees Carrie declining assistance in disembarking. She is deathly pale, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed and she looks like shit. His heart aches for her. He sees Ryan and others move forward but he calmly cuts them off and goes to stand in front of Carrie, his back to the others.

He sees what may be a flicker of relief in her eyes before her face becomes shuttered and dull again. "Come with me," he tells her and puts his arm around her narrow shoulders and leads her towards the car where he slides into the back seat beside her.

Her breathing is steady and she seems remarkably calm given what has happened. "You saw?" she asks him, a break in her voice.

"I'm so sorry," he tells her. "We tried …"

"Was it Lockhart?" she demanded in a hard voice.

"Lockhart, Dar Adal and Scott Ryan," he tells her in a low voice.

"Scott? That prick. I always knew he was a weasel," Carrie mutters in a low furious voice.

"They're going to want you to start your debrief as soon as we get back to Langley but as soon as that is done, you're going on a leave of absence."

"I am, am I?"

"Carrie, you've been to hell and back … still there given everything."

"Where's Saul?" she demands.

Quinn sighs. "Told Lockhart to fuck himself and then walked … doubt he's coming back."

The lost and betrayed expression in Carrie's face makes Quinn flinch. 

"I'm sure Lockhart would have shown him there door anyway, no fucking way he's keeping Saul around now that he's in charge."

"God help us all," Carrie mutters."

When they arrive at Langley, to Carrie's surprise there's a doctor waiting for her. "Peter – we need to start the debrief," Dar Adal starts to speak.

"What we need is for everyone to back the fuck off so that the doctor can make sure Carrie's all right before you start your questioning."

Lockhart and Dar Adal exchange glances and Lockhart nods slowly.

"Please, take the time you need," Lockhart says courteously.


	5. Fragment: Levelling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, following her return from Tehran, Carrie suffers another manic episode. Faced with the option of having her hospitalised again, Quinn volunteers to stay with her while she levels out ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addresses this prompt by mytimeoftheyear: "At what point in time did Carrie take down her Brody wall? Did she have help?"

Quinn knocks on the door and Maggie opens it quickly. Relief floods over her face at the sight of him.

"Peter, thank God."

"Sorry – I came as soon as I got your message," he tells her. 

Naturally he can disclose nothing but the Agency is in complete and utter chaos following Carrie's return from Tehran. Lockhart's ascension, Saul Berenson's departure, Nicholas Brody's death, General Danesh Akbari's assassination and Majid Javadi's rise to power are all significant events that have staff scrambling to write briefings and formulate next steps.

"I know, and I'm sorry to call you but I really needed to talk to you about what to do next."

Quinn comes in and frowns slightly. Carrie's only been back in the country a few days. With Maggie's consent, he has disclosed Carrie's pregnancy to Lockhart and he has negotiated a month's leave of absence from work for her.

"What's wrong?"

"I know you couldn't give me the exact details of what happened with Nicholas Brody so I looked it up on the Internet. Nothing's verified but youtube has given me a pretty good idea of what happened to him and where Carrie was last week."

She stares at Quinn's face and he is completely expressionless. Maggie knows that look well. It's the same face that Carrie has given her time and time again when anything to do with certain aspects of her work are mentioned.

Quinn wishes he could say something but the official story being disseminated is that Brody went rogue and decided to take out Akbari himself. He was then tried and hanged for the crime and there were no attempts at diplomatic intervention given that Brody was the terrorist responsible for the Langley bombing. Nicholas Brody had been wronged in death the way he had been wronged in life.

"I told you that Carrie was extra vulnerable right now because her medication levels are lower than usual. Bipolar disorder can worsen during pregnancy and pregnant women have seven times the risk of a hospital admission," Maggie says in a rapid voice.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Quinn asks her warily, a feeling of unease creeping over him.

They walk into the living room and Carrie is sitting on the sofa in her pyjamas, her hair tangled about her shoulders and her eyes wild. She has her arms wrapped around her knees and she is rocking back and forth and she is speaking rapidly, one word slurring into the next, sentences long and convoluted. One wall of the room is still covered with a map of the world and the dozens of articles and photographs of Brody. It is the only shrine the man is ever likely to receive.

"Disaster, debacle descends deleteriously upon us," she mutters before her thoughts scatter and latch onto the next concept. When she sees Quinn, her eyes widen and she walks over to him and clutches his shirt-front.

"You need to help me find him, you know where he is …" she insists emphatically, her face tortured and her mouth contorting.

Quinn grips her hands in his and gently removes them from his shirt. "Carrie, sit down," he tells her firmly and she stares at him in confusion but obeys. She buries her head in her knees and starts to mumble incoherently as she rocks.

"She's manic," Maggie says helplessly.

"No shit," Quinn says, staring at Carrie with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"I've given her lithium … as high a dose as is safe but as soon as she stabilises, she'll need to go in for blood testing and have her meds adjusted by her psychiatrist," Maggie tells him.

"OK," he acknowledges. "How long is it going to take?"

"A few days …at least … maybe a week for her to level out … I've also given her a sedative. It's vital that she gets sleep. The more sleep deprived she is, the higher the risk of her condition worsening."

Quinn nods. "I'm guessing you called me for a reason."

"We may need to admit her to hospital until she settles," Maggie blurts out, misery in her eyes.

"She fucking hates the hospital. Why does she need to be admitted? Will they give her different medication? Does she need to be physically restrained?"

"She needs someone with her while she stabilises … to keep an eye on her, to keep her safe. Last time she was this manic, she almost killed herself walking in front of a car."

Quinn flinches.

"I haven't seen her this bad before, Peter. The last attack of mania was after she was in an explosion that caused concussion. Before that, she had an episode in college but there have been no others. I can stay with her part of the time, but I have the girls … my father to look after …" she raises her hands helplessly. "Hospital is the safest place for her."

"No," Quinn says emphatically. "When she comes out of this, she is going to crash badly … she's going to be completely out of her head with grief. I don’t want that to happen in a hospital. I can look after her."

"Peter, that is very kind of you but you have to work – "

"Let me handle that," he tells her abruptly. "I can stay with her."

Maggie nods slowly, relief in her eyes. "I'll come by as often as I can."

After Maggie leaves, Quinn sits beside Carrie on the sofa and looks at her with sadness shadowing his eyes.

"It isn't insanity," she assures him. "I'm aware he's dead," she tells him unexpectedly. "I can find him though … only I can do it, I can find out where he is." 

When she gets up and starts pacing the room restlessly, he watches her silently. It's only when she starts trying to walk out the door that he goes up to stop her. She resists him, fists flying, feet kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.

He holds her tightly as she struggles, saying nothing, just keeping his arms tight around her and letting her rail against him – all of the rage, frustration and grief pouring out of her.

After what seems like hours and many "fuck you's" later, she finally grows quiet and slumps bonelessly in his arms. He lifts her up and carries her upstairs to her bed. 

After he pulls the covers over her, he pulls up a chair near the bed and leans back, watching over her.

*

When she awakens, the hypomanic state is still with her, her mind racing and her voice barely keeping pace with the flurry of ideas.

"Carrie, a funeral won't be possible. No one knows where his body is," Quinn tells her firmly but Carrie is unconvinced, swept away by her own feelings of grandiosity. She talks obsessively of finding Brody's body even as she gets distracted by the sounds outside and the glimmer of sunlight through the window.

Eventually he distracts her by taking her downstairs to the wall in her living room and suggests to her that she takes down each photo, each piece of string and each article in the order in which she put it up on the wall. He helps her, listening as she takes each one down and hands it to him, explaining how she found out and how much truth was in each article.

Eventually nothing remains except the map and she stands and stares at it fixedly. "I need to get another map," she tells him firmly and makes a sudden dash for the door. He manages to catch her before she gets there.

"You're in your pyjamas Carrie, you're barefoot. You can't go anywhere," he reasons with her.

At first she's angry and she tries very hard to pull away but he manages to wrestle her down to the carpet and pin her down, speaking in a calm and quiet voice until she eventually grows quiet.

"The map will still be there later, you don't need to get it now."

"Later?" she asks him.

"We can go and buy a new map later," he tells her. "But we should take this one down now – you don't need it anymore," he tells her. 

He helps her take the map down and watches as she folds it neatly into a very small square and places it with the photographs and articles.

When he gives her her medication, she stares at the tablets warily but complies, washing them down with water, swallowing as she frowns at him. "You'll help me find him, Quinn – I know you will."

"If that's what you want, but you need to rest first, Carrie," he tells her. 

His voice is firm and calm and he walks with her to the bedroom and she lies down and closes her eyes as he watches over her.

*

Carrie fluctuates between intense hyperactivity and positivity to extreme irritability. Sometimes she says appalling things to him – nasty, unfounded allegations and insults. Once she even tries to seduce him and he has to remove her from his body with a calm and detached air, pity in his eyes.

Maggie comes by for long enough to let him go home and return with a bag with some clothes and also phone the office to say that he is finally taking some of his unused leave. 

"I haven't taken any leave in years – they can hardly say no to me now," he remarks to Carrie who in a moment of lucidity asks him if he is suddenly unemployed.

He watches her grow calmer and after four days, she is lying in bed quietly, her eyes steady and very lucid as she stares at him.

"How long have I been out of it?" she asks him.

"Four days," he tells her. Her voice is slurred and her eyes are drowsy from the sedative but he can see the clarity and self-awareness.

"I'm sorry," she tells him apologetically.

"Don’t be," he replies. "You've fucking been through hell."

Her face crumples. "I saw him die, Quinn. I promised him I'd get him out but they killed him."

"I know. I'm sorry," Quinn tells her sincerely and he merely hands her a tissue as she sobs noisily, her face red and swollen.

When her breathing quietens and her sobs lessen, she asks him,"Why are you here? This isn't your problem – I'm not your problem."

He shrugs. "I've got nowhere else to be," he says flippantly. She gives him a look. "I didn't want you to go through this alone," is all he will say. 

They are silent for a long moment and then he smiles. "I've been cooking for you all week despite your ungrateful complaints – it's your turn to cook for me tonight," he tells her.

She smiles despite herself and he starts making requests as she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

*

"Why was Quinn here?" Carrie asks Maggie as the two of them talk over breakfast. Quinn has gone out to buy groceries after phoning Maggie to let her know of Carrie's return to equilibrium. 

"He wants to help."

"Why?"

"I think he sees himself as a friend, Carrie," Maggie says bluntly. "He knows what you've gone through … and he wants to help."

"I see." Carrie's brow furrows and she rests her hand absently on her belly, rubbing it with a frown on her face.

"He didn't want to see you admitted to hospital … said he could manage you here … "

"I almost punched him in the face a few times," Carrie remarks.

"No black eyes so I assume you missed," Maggie says with a smile.

Carrie nods. "This is partly because my meds are low, isn't it?" she asks and Maggie nods.

"We could ask Dr Sanders to increase your lithium again …"

"But the baby …"

"You're out of the first trimester so the risk isn't as high as it was."

"But there's still a risk."

Carrie frowns again. "Maggie – I don't want another episode like this one," she tells her. "It's not fair to you … it's also not fair to Quinn …"

"I've booked you in to see Dr Sanders this afternoon – we can talk about your options."

Carrie nods. "Good. Jesus Maggie, I still can't believe you put Quinn through all of my shit."

"Then make it up to him," Maggie tells her. "I heard some of the insults you yelled at him."

Carrie grimaces. "I'm sure he deserved at least a few of them," she says even as she feels an unfamiliar twinge of guilt.


	6. Treatment or Torture?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie makes a decision in relation to treatment for her bipolar disorder during her pregnancy. Quinn is there to offer support. 
> 
> In my mind he isn't being all Perfect here. He's being a friend and the scene we see in episode 3.12 makes me think that he's been by her side through a lot of the hell of the four months following Tehran. He is alone, he has nowhere else to be really - it makes sense to me that he'd be there to help her out since Saul's bailed and there's no one else for Carrie except her sister who is a busy doctor and mother of two young daughters and her father who is loving but also bipolar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: descriptions of electroconvulsive therapy
> 
> Addresses the following prompt from mytimeoftheyear: "When and why did Quinn start smoking?"

"As you are aware, ECT has also been shown to be relatively safe during pregnancy and may offer some advantages over antidepressants in minimising exposure to psychotropic medications during pregnancy."

Carrie nods as Dr Sanders outlines the options to her. It's nothing she doesn't already know. She has already done her own research on the topic and spoken at great length with Maggie and she has already made up her mind. She lets her psychiatrist continue speaking, though as she sits in his office next to Maggie.

"You're a good candidate for it, Carrie," Dr Sanders tells her. "You've been responsive to ECT in the past, your tests today show that despite your latest treatments, your kidney and thyroid functions are good. I have to say – I'd have preferred it if you'd elected to be admitted to hospital to treat your latest episode, though."

"We decided that it could be handled at home this time, doctor," Maggie told him quietly.

"I've spent more than enough time in hospitals," Carrie tells him, pulling a face at him and Dr Sanders knows better than to push the point.

"Well I'm glad you are doing so well, Carrie," he tells her as they discuss the next steps in her treatment.

*

"It might as well be voodoo– no one knows how or why it works… " Quinn protests, his eyes dark with frustration. Even though he is clearly perturbed, he does not pace or move around the room. He is always very quiet and self-contained, his calm energy almost tangible – but it is very clear that he is concerned about the decision that Carrie has made.

"Peter," Maggie tells him urgently. "We know that ECT works - certain biochemical changes are believed to be brought about by this seizure activity, causing symptoms to diminish or even disappear completely..."

"Maggie are you even listening to yourself? 'Certain biochemical changes are _believed_ to be brought about … no one knows for sure. Some studies say that it causes brain damage in the unborn child."

"And anti-psychotic medications have been shown to possibly cause birth defects in the foetus," Carrie points out. "I was given a really heavy dose of anti-psychotics when I was in the hospital last time," she tells him. "I don't want to risk anything further … "

Quinn grimaces. "I think you mentioned you had a lot of alcohol, too." Carrie nods slowly, her face very serious.

"Sorry guys, much as I'd like to stay and continue this debate - I really have to go," Maggie says, rising to her feet. 

She crosses to Quinn's side. "Peter – it's a humane treatment, I promise you. It's the best possible treatment given all the different factors – but it's sweet that you care so much." She gives him a hug and kisses him on the cheek before leaving.

Quinn walks over to the armchair and sits down, staring at Carrie narrowly. "I’m surprised you haven't told me to fuck off and mind my own fucking business," he remarks.

"Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, Quinn. My body, my choice about treatment," she tells him evenly. "But I know you stayed with me this past week when I was … in a bad way. You definitely didn't have to do that …and I appreciate it."

"I don't need or want your gratitude," he tells her flatly, his light eyes very cool and unreadable.

"I said some pretty fucked up things to you when I was out of it … I'm not proud of that."

"No worse than things you've said to me when you're not sick," he replies with a wicked grin and gives a brief laugh when she throws a cushion at his head.

"But seriously …"

"No, never serious," he protests.

"Seriously – Quinn. Thank you. For … " She gestures vaguely with her hands in a rather frantic, frustrated way. "… everything." 

She has a horrible memory of sobbing uncontrollably in his arms while he simply held her, not caring that she was soaking the front of his shirt or trying to offer any reassurance. She remembers being carried to bed and drifting into sleep as he watched over her. She remembers his hands holding her wrists firmly as she tried to punch him, his body pinning hers down as she tried to kick, bite and scratch. It has definitely not been a picnic but he has put up with it all and more without any complaint and he's still here.

"So articulate," he comments. 

"Fuck you," she tells him.

"But there's no need to thank me. Just glad to see you back to your usual charming self."

That makes her give a half smile. "Am I your project, Quinn? Your good deed? I'm broken beyond repair so possibly a lost cause, you know."

"I've read that grandiosity and feelings of self-importance are common symptoms of bipolar disorder," he remarks mildly.

"Fuck. You," she tells him again, this time very deliberately and throws a second cushion at him which he reaches up and catches easily before throwing it back at her.

"Are you allowed to have people with you when they fry your brains?" he asks her casually.

She stares at him in surprise and balances the cushion in her hand. "Yes, we can have friends and family with us for support if we want …You curious? It's not like Cuckoo's Nest you know …"

"I know," he says quietly. He's done the research as well, he knows what it involves. It still bothers him, though. "I'd like to be there if that’s ok with you …"

"Are we friends, Quinn?" she asks him abruptly. 

"I hope so," he says honestly.

"I don't want your pity."

"This isn't pity, Carrie. You're the bravest and craziest person I know … the things you've gone through … the sacrifices you've made …You're remarkable."

She frowns and stares down at her hands. Her voice shakes a little as she speaks. "You know, if you just want a fuck ... a notch on your bedpost – just say so. I'm easy," she tells him almost insultingly.

Quinn's face is quiet and serious and his voice is gentle. "Carrie – at the risk of sounding delusional myself - I don’t really have a shortage of willing fuck buddies. This isn't about wanting to get into your pants."

"So you don't want to fuck me?" she asks, sounding confused and a little piqued at the same time.

"I didn't say that," he says softly and watches as there is a faint flush on her pale face. "But Carrie – I'm not ever going to fuck you while you're still in love with Brody …" he tells her bluntly.

"You could be waiting a very long time, Quinn," she tells him.

"I can be patient for things that matter," he replies steadily. Her brows draw together in a frown and stands up. "Come on - I'm cooking but you're helping."

"OK," she says agreeably and allows him to pull her to her feet.

*

The night before her first ECT session, they have an early meal and then kill time watching television.

When Quinn gets himself a coffee, Carrie looks up at him.

"Let me have some of that, Quinn."

"No food or drink after midnight because of the anaesthesia, Carrie."

"Fuck."

"Try to follow the rules for once, Carrie."

"You are such a party pooper."

*

In preparation for the ECT session, Carrie sits and has her blood pressure taken, signs the consent forms and goes into the change room to put on the backless hospital gown. She pulls a second gown over the back to avoid mooning everyone in the hallway.

"Fetching," Quinn remarks from where he is standing in the corridor, waiting for her. He looks relaxed and urbane as ever in his charcoal grey trousers, light blue shirt and casual jacket.

A wards man approaches with a wheelchair and Carrie sits down as he wheels her to the surgical suite, Quinn walking at her side.

"Where's Maggie?"

"She said she'd meet us there," Quinn tells her and Carrie nods.

Maggie arrives as Carrie is lying down on the gurney. A nurse hooks Carrie up to a heart monitor, puts a blood pressure cuff around her arm, an oxygen meter on her finger and an intravenous line in her arm.

"She ok?" Maggie asks Quinn who is standing a short distance from the gurney. 

"Yeah fine," Quinn tells her grimly, watching intently as the obstetrician places a small cushion beneath Carrie's right hip. "As your uterus increases in size and weight, lying flat on your back may compress the inferior vena cava and lower aorta. With compression of these major vessels, increased heart rate and peripheral resistance compensate but perhaps insufficiently to maintain placental perfusion. By elevating your right hip like this, this displaces the uterus to the left, relieving pressure on the major vessels."

Dr Sanders turns to Carrie and begins explaining all of the equipment and Carrie nods to acknowledge that she understands. The anaesthesiologist, a middle aged man with greying hair and glasses explains that two medications will be given to induce unconsciousness and one will be given to paralyse the muscles so that they will not react to the seizures. "Given your pregnancy, we will be intubating you as well."

Quinn knows that Carrie will be kept well-hydrated intravenously throughout the ECT procedure to reduce the risk of reduced placental perfusion. A foetal heart monitor is also in the room, monitored by the obstetrician and oxygen administration will be adjusted accordingly. Despite all of the precautions, he is aware that his heart is pounding loudly.

"Patient is Carrie Mathison. We are all here to assist with performing an electroconvulsive therapy treatment." 

"Yes," the medical staff each say one by one.

Carrie is covered by a blanket but the nurse moves forward to uncover her feet and strap her to the bed. Her arms are kept under the blanket and thick straps go across her chest and thighs. Emotion flickers across Quinn's face as Carrie is strapped down. 

Horrific images flash through his mind … a screaming prisoner writhing in agony on a metal bed... Quinn has been at CIA black sites where prisoners are interrogated using a variety of methods. He is not an interrogator as his talents lie elsewhere. Ironically, Quinn's particular skill is the ability to dispatch a target swiftly. To kill silently - and humanely - whether up close and personal or from a great distance.

Nonetheless, he has witnessed enough interrogations to feel an unsettling sense of familiarity at the sight of the straps and the equipment.

"Quinn – it's ok," Carrie tells him when she sees him stiffen and almost take a step forward when she is strapped down.

"It's to stop her from hurting herself," Maggie reassures him.

"I know, I know," he mutters, his face tense. 

"Do you want to wait outside?" Maggie asks him sympathetically and Quinn shakes his head emphatically. 

"I'm fine," he says curtly.

He watches as one of the ECT nurses cleans Carrie's temples, pushing her thick blonde hair out of the way. Gel is applied to her temples and a tourniquet is applied to her arm. 

A cannula is inserted into the top of Carrie's hand and the nurses pull up to padded panels on both sides of the surgical bed to keep her in place. 

As the anaesthesiologist prepares the cocktail of medication, the nurse puts a rubber mouthpiece in Carrie's mouth and places an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.

"Take a few deep breaths, Carrie," they tell her. "Are you ready Carrie?"

Carrie's eyes flicker and she glances over at Quinn and she smiles awkwardly around the mouthpiece, almost as if to comfort him. She nods.

"Please count to 10, Carrie," the anaesthesiologist requests. She makes it to five and her voice trails off as she sinks into unconsciousness, eyes closing and head slumping onto the gurney.

Quinn flinches as the small electrical current is passed through Carrie's brain. He watches as Carrie's face spasms momentarily as if in momentary pain and he watches her unanesthetised arm muscles contract. The current is applied for one second or less as Carrie breathes pure oxygen through a mask. 

A pulse throbs in Quinn's throat as he swallows hard, trying to shut out the memory of screams as a prisoner's body is jolted with shock after shock. 

Despite the civility and clinical nature of the treatment, her twitching body is unsettlingly similar to that of interrogated captives and Quinn's eyes are haunted, his hands tightening convulsively into fists at his side. 

_Stop! For God's sake, stop! I'll tell you want you want to know!_ The voice rises into a sob, praying, screaming and pleading for mercy.

Quinn closes his eyes for a moment and forces himself to regain his composure.

The electroencephalogram monitors the seizure activity and an electrocardiogram monitors Carrie's heart rhythm. The clinically effective seizure lasts almost a minute but it seems much, much longer as he watches her fingers twitch. The rest of her body twitches very slightly in the induced seizure. The doctors use an electronic monitor to confirm that an adequate seizure response has occurred. 

Finally, it is over and he allows himself to breathe again. Quinn and Maggie accompany the gurney as Carrie is wheeled into the recovery room. 

"Are you all right, Peter? You're very pale." Maggie asks him in concern.

"Fine," he replies.

"It looks very confronting, I know – but she really isn't in any pain," she assures him. 

Maggie's phone rings. "Damn," she mutters. "It's an emergency..." her face is very apologetic.

"It's fine – you go. I'll stay with her and drive her home," he tells her and Maggie nods. She feels guilty but Quinn makes it a little too easy for her to surrender responsibility sometimes – he's reliable and he's willing to help. The Mathisons have never had that before.

"Confusion and short-term memory loss is normal so be patient – as you always are," she tells him with a faint smile.

"Copy that," Quinn nods and pulls up a chair.

*

As Quinn sits beside Carrie's bed in the recovery room, a nurse hovers nearby, monitoring Carrie's vitals.

Quinn watches the rise and fall of Carrie's chest. He concentrates on watching her breathe and tries to drown out the memory of a sobbing voice begging pitifully … the smell of burnt human flesh. 

He forces himself to read the ECT information pamphlet in his hand over and over again until he can recite it almost word for word.

Eventually Carrie wakes up and glances around the room in rather panicked confusion. 

"Where am I?" she demands. When her gaze falls upon Quinn she stiffens. "The fuck? What are you doing here?" she asks him blankly. "Where's Maggie?"

He explains what has happened in a low voice as the nurse removes the IV and unhooks Carrie from the monitors. She calms down almost immediately. 

"The baby?" she asks and he nods. 

"The obstetrician says that everything looks good."

She looks at him warily. "I asked you to come?" she asks, looking perplexed.

He shakes his head. "I wanted to come."

"That's a little weird," she mutters.

Quinn leaves the room to allow her to change back into her clothes and they go to the small cafeteria so that she can have something to eat and drink.

"Do you need to be driven home, Carrie?" the nurse asks her. "The patient bus is outside."

"No, I'm here to drive her home," Quinn tells the nurse who nods and smiles.

At a red light on the way home, he glances at her in concern but she seems calm and quiet, if a little drowsy.

She leans on him only slightly as he helps her walk from the car into the house. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks her when they walk through the front door.

"Cold and sleepy," she tells him and he fetches a comforter and puts it around her shoulder as she settles on the sofa. He fetches them both a cup of tea.

"Don't you have to go back to work?" she asks him quizzically.

"No," he says unexpansively. "How's your head? Any headache? Nausea? Muscle soreness?"

Carrie's mouth twitches. "You've been doing your reading, Quinn. I'm fine. Just still struggling to remember very much."

"How far back do you remember?" he asks her.

She closes her eyes for a moment. 

"I remember Tehran," she tells him softly and the grief builds inside her again, fresh and raw again as if it was yesterday. The tears slide out from under her closed eyelids and she places her head in her hands and sobs.

*

She has several more ECT sessions as part of her treatment and despite his original concerns, Quinn can see the positive effects. 

He still finds the process somewhat harrowing and while Carrie is signing paperwork, he stands in the courtyard of the hospital and with shaking hands will pull out a cigarette and take a few shallow puffs before stubbing out the cigarette.

He hasn't smoked in many years but for the time being, he finds that the cigarettes settle him. It's irrational but he doesn't try to fight it. A few puffs later, calm and cool as ever, he returns inside and accompanies Carrie into the room for treatment. 

After several treatments, he knows exactly what will happen. The staff know him and greet him by name. He knows exactly how long it takes Carrie to succumb to the sedative, how her face will contort when the electrical current starts. He knows how her hands and feet will twitch and how long it takes her to wake up. 

She is no longer surprised to see him when she wakes up and he makes a note of events and conversations leading up to the treatment so that he can jog her memory and remind her of the little things that she forgets.

After one treatment, she descends into an almost somnolent state, only able to utter monosyllables but for the most part, the treatments are uneventful and he can see her getting better.

Sanders says that regular exercise, healthy eating and sufficient sleep are all vital for her treatment regimen so he drags her out on two walks a day. At first she complains and protests but after a time, she also looks forward to the walks and helps with meal plans, making sure that olives and Indian food are thrown into the mix as well.

"Doesn't it bother you that you forget things after a treatment?" he asks her.

She shakes her head. "Most of the stuff comes back in time," she explains. Her cheeks are pink and flushed as they walk briskly across the park.

She still has bouts of crying but they are becoming less frequent … less intense. 

"Maybe part of me hopes that somehow the bad memories will be erased," Carrie tells him, puffing slightly in her effort to keep up with his longer stride.

Quinn gives her a faintly melancholy smile. "That's not a solution, Carrie. Things happened that made you what you are – you can't just erase that."

"You're telling me that you don't have bad memories that you wish you could erase?" she asks him bluntly.

"You got me there, Carrie," he concedes. "There are things I wish I could forget … but that's not possible and to be honest, I guess I'm hoping that I'll have a chance to create some new memories. Some happier ones."

Before she can reply, he has set off again and she has to jog to keep up with him.

"Do you ever get sick of being all fucking mysterious?" she demands.

He laughs, doesn't answer and Carrie finds herself laughing as well - and it feels good.


	7. Fragment: Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some messages - verbal and otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fragment very partially addresses LondynNow's comment: "One of the most glaring omissions in the finale IMO was the total lack of reaction/ acknowledgement from Saul to Carrie's pregnancy (with *Brody's* baby). There was nothing with Carrie or even with another character on the subject. This was confounding to me."

The phone rings five times, the sound jarring in the silence.

Carrie is stretched out on the sofa, propped up by pillows, her hand resting on her abdomen absently. 

Quinn is lounging in the armchair facing her and doesn't even bother asking her if she's going to answer the phone. These days, she only takes calls on her cell phone. With the exception of calls from her shrink or her obstetrician, she only takes calls from her father, her sister and Quinn. Even calls from the CIA end up going to voice mail.

There is a click to signal that the answering service has been activated and a familiar gruff voice speaks.

_"Carrie. It's Saul. Just calling to see how you are… "_

Quinn sees Carrie's face tighten but she makes no movement to get up to move to the phone. Instead, she merely closes her eyes and leans back but he knows from the quiver of her chin and the rapidness of her breathing that she is listening intently.

_"I can't even begin to imagine how you're feeling right now … I am so sorry that I wasn't there when you got back from …overseas. Things were … complicated."_

Carrie covers her eyes with her arm and turns her head to the side.

 _"… what happened to Brody was … awful. Just wanted to know that I'm thinking of you."_ There is a long pause and he clears his throat. _"You've got my number. Call me some time."_

There's a click and then beeping before the room is silent again.

"Don't say a word, Quinn," she says warningly. "I don't want to hear it."

"I don't believe I was the one talking there," he says mildly.

"Your silence is speaking volumes," she says in a voice thick with misery.

"I’m just sitting here," he tells her, taking a sip from his coffee and putting it down on the table again. 

"When I came back, he was fucking _gone_ ," Carrie says in a low voice that ends in a hiss. "One moment I see Brody swinging from the end of a rope and then I'm here … and Saul doesn't even have the fucking decency to stick around to get the debrief on the play that _he_ engineered."

Quinn says nothing. He doesn't need to point out that Saul's position had been untenable, that even if he hadn't left of his own volition, Lockhart would have shown him the door unceremoniously. There was never going to be a world in which Andrew Lockhart and Saul Berenson were going to co-exist in the same Agency. 

Quinn knows that Carrie knows all of this. He also knows that there's nothing that he can say to alleviate the sense of betrayal and hurt she feels. 

To be honest, he understands her feelings all too well as he, too had been persuaded by Saul Berenson. 

The man's wisdom, experience and integrity had lured him away from his previous dutiful obedience to Dar Adal, shifting his long-held allegiances.

His first inkling that the great Saul Berenson also had clay feet had come when Saul had conceded that the intelligence mission had failed and that it had become a military operation. Quinn had watched with frowning disapproval as Saul had left the room. True, the man had believed that the mission had failed – but there were still men on the ground – men that he had sent into battle. Common decency required that he remain to learn their fate, but instead he had retreated to his office … to sulk.

This behaviour had been repeated after Lockhart had seized control of the Agency. Saul's pride would not permit him to remain after having suffered such a humiliating defeat even though the mission had been a success. 

As much as Quinn could understand the man's reasons for his actions – Carrie was entitled to feel betrayed.

"Damnit Quinn, say something," Carrie explodes when the silence drags on. "I know there's something going on in that head of yours."

"I think that in life, we all make mistakes," he says calmly. 

"You're preaching to the choir, Quinn," she tells him. "My life is an endless list of fuck ups and things I should have done differently. I will talk to him again," she tells him.

"I know you will. When you're ready, you'll talk to him. Just like when you're ready, you'll also apologise to Fara."

There is a very, very long and extremely uncomfortable silence.

"What the hell are you fucking talking about?" she demands defensively.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." His gaze is steady and implacable as he leans back in the armchair.

Carrie sits upright. "Fara knew exactly what she was getting into."

"Putting her uncle's life at risk? Do you think Javadi doesn't know of her uncle's involvement now?"

Carrie flinches. "He knows … he knows about him."

Quinn nods. "And his life is only safe so long as we are able to control Javadi."

Carrie is silent. "I told her that we had a brother in the field who needed her help."

"But you didn't tell her it was Brody."

Carrie's lack of response is his answer. "Carrie, you're as guilty of fucking around with people's lives as Saul and the rest are. You can't make Masud Sherazi safe – but you can at least apologise to Fara."

"Great ... let me guess - are you fucking her?" Carrie demands insultingly.

Quinn doesn't dignify her rudeness with a response, merely stares at her wordlessly, his gaze steady and cool. 

Carrie grimaces. "I didn't mean that. The shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes …"

"Apology accepted."

"I wasn't apologising."

"That was a Carrie Mathison apology," he says with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He rises to his feet and goes to the kitchen to wash out his coffee mug before returning to the living room.

"You leaving?" she asks him, pissed off at the slightly wistful note in her voice.

"Yeah, early meeting tomorrow," he tells her. She walks with him to the front door.

"Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong," he reminds her.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn, tell me you are not quoting fucking Gandhi at me."

"Good night, Carrie," he tells her. "I'll be here after the meeting for our run."

She watches him leave, frowning.

*

Quinn's phone rings and he answers it as he's on his way to his car.

"Yeah."

"Peter – did you say something to Carrie?" Fara's voice asks him, sounding very puzzled.

Quinn's lips twitch. 

"She left a phone message for me … asking me out for lunch today. When I showed up, she apologised to me for lying … for putting my uncle in danger … you know how intense she can be – I really didn't know how to respond … or where to look."

"Hope she paid for lunch," Quinn remarks, unlocking his car door.

Fara laughs. "Of course she did."

"Did you forgive her?"

"Yes … I understand why she did what she did … " Fara paused. "My uncle has nothing but respect and admiration for her – he says she is the bravest and most crazy woman he has ever met in his life."

"He knows her for five fucking minutes and sums her up perfectly," Quinn remarks in amusement.

"OK. Well I'll see you tomorrow at the briefing," Fara tells him. "But please give me warning if I'm going to get any more declarations from Carrie. She's very … exhausting. If I drank, I'd need a drink. Perhaps several."

*

Quinn presses the keypad to listen to his voicemail messages.

" _Peter. It's Saul. Can you call me when you have time?"_

He leans back in the seat of his car. He has a pretty good idea what the topic of conversation is going to be.

Saul picks up on the first ring. "Peter."

"Saul."

"Thanks for returning my call." Saul clears his throat. "I realise that I didn't do you the same courtesy a few weeks ago when you were trying to call me."

"I understand you had a lot going on," Quinn replies coolly. He doesn't mention the dozens of attempts to contact Saul and the frantic voice mails that were ignored.

"Still no excuse for leaving you in the lurch," Saul replies and Quinn is surprised and impressed by the older man's honesty. 

"How can I help you?"

"How's Carrie? She isn't taking my calls."

"She's dealing with a lot right now, Saul."

"I've heard she's pregnant."

Quinn says nothing.

"Is it his?"

"I think that's something that only Carrie can confirm or deny – when she's ready to talk to you."

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Saul mutters beneath his breath. "Is she out of her fucking mind? How the fuck can she even _think_ of bringing that … man's child into the world?"

Quinn's voice is expressionless. "Saul - if you consider yourself Carrie's friend, my suggestion is that you never voice that opinion to her."

"Noted," Saul replies. He sighs. "Peter - I'd like it if we could keep in touch. I realise you seem to have made the decision to stay on with the Agency … but if you change your mind, there's always a job open for you with me."

"Good to know," Quinn replies, a hint of warmth creeping back into his voice. "Can't really picture myself going private, but you never know what will happen."

"Absolutely. Take care of yourself, Peter."

"Always do."

Quinn puts the phone down. Lately, he's starting to feel like Carrie's personal answering machine service.

*

" _Peter. I think the time for this charade is over. Call me to discuss the conclusion of your secondment and your return."_ Dar Adal's voice is terse.

Quinn listens to the voicemail once, deletes it and leaves a message for Lockhart to call him.

*

" _Peter – I've had a word with the new Division Chief. He's very impressed with your resume and is very interested in ending the secondment and taking you on permanently. Come by and see me when you have time."_

Quinn listens to the voicemail twice and with a faint smile on his face, begins walking in the direction of Lockhart's office. 

*

"How are you feeling?" Quinn asks as they are returning from their evening walk. Carrie's carrying a bag of take-out ordered from the restaurant on the corner and Quinn is carrying the soft drinks and the beer.

"A little bit better every day," she tells him. "I’m going to be ready to go back to work next month," she assures him.

"Good to hear," he replies. He believes her. She looks healthy, calm and confident – better than she's ever been the whole time he's known her.

The phone rings and Carrie ignores it, walking into the kitchen with Quinn to get plates, bowls and chopsticks.

The phone clicks and the answering machine activates. " _Carrie. It's me again._ " Saul's voice is clear and loud.

Carrie doesn't stop what she's doing and unties the knot in the plastic bag. " _I heard about the baby. Congratulations. Mira sends her love as well._ " There is a long silence. " _I've been thinking about you. Call me when you have time._ " 

There is a click and then there is silence again.

"At the table or in front of the TV?" Carrie asks him.

"TV," he replies and they settle in front of the television to eat their dinner. 

Neither of them mention the message from Saul.

*

Quinn rolls over and sees that the light on his phone is blinking. He glances beside him. Antonia is fast asleep, her hair tousled and the sheet slipping down to reveal her full breasts.

He reaches for the phone quietly, notices one missed call and a blinking voice mail icon. 

_Quinn? It's Carrie. Just letting you know that they've moved my ECT time tomorrow – it's 10 instead of 9. Sorry about the short notice, so don't worry about coming. I can get the patient bus home."_

He slides out of the bed and looks for his clothes, pulling them on quietly. Antonia stirs in the bed. An associate at one of Washington's white shoe law firms, he's been seeing her on and off for several months – nothing particularly serious but the arrangement works for both of them. He never stays overnight.

He glances at his watch. It's just after eleven and Carrie's still awake even though Maggie is always trying to persuade her to go to bed sooner.

"Heading off already?" Antonia asks, disappointment in her voice as she sits up in the bed.

"Yeah," he replies.

"Will I see you again anytime soon or is it going to be weeks between calls again?" she asks him, tilting her head to one side. She's pretty, smart and sexy – a triple threat but he's never felt the temptation to deepen the relationship.

"I'll call you," he tells her.

"You're not married are you?" she asks him, raising her eyebrow at him quizzically.

"No," he assures her. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"Missed call from Carrie," she remarks. "Whenever you get a call from her – it's the end of the night, no matter how early it is."

He gives her a quick smile. "She's a co-worker," he tells her and leans over the bed to press a quick, obligatory kiss to her mouth before he leaves.

"Oh, secret spy stuff," she says with an arch smile.

"I'm a boring analyst, remember? Chained to a desk," he tells her.

He feels lighter after he leaves Antonia's apartment and he calls Carrie as he's starting up his car.

"Quinn? Do you know how late it is?" Carrie demands loudly.

"You weren't asleep yet." 

"You think you know me so well." He can imagine her rolling her eyes at him. 

"Got your message. No need for the bus. I'll be there," he tells her.

"Quinn, it's not necessary. Maggie will be there and then the bus will take me home. Besides, you think I don't know how stressed you get when I'm getting my brains fried?"

"I'll see you at 10."

"Fuck it," she says, a laugh in her voice. "Is there anyone in the world more stubborn than you?"

"There's you."

"True." She pauses. "I didn't interrupt you on a date did I?"

"If you're asking me if I was on a date, then yes – I was out with someone."

"Sorry," she says, sounding genuinely repentant. 

"It's fine."

"I remembered something this morning," she tells him. He listens as he drives home, waiting for her to continue. "Last time I woke up after the ECT – you were holding my hand."

"It's good that you're remembering things," he says encouragingly.

"Yeah," she agrees. "'night Quinn."

"See you tomorrow."

The line goes dead.

Carrie doesn't remember that Quinn is always holding her hand in the recovery room.


	8. Fragment: Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fragment set towards the end of the first month of the "missing four months". We saw [how empty Quinn's home was](http://koalathebear.tumblr.com/post/70178807747/poor-quinn-its-such-a-lonely-life-being-a) when Dar Adal interrupted his shower and I wanted to explore that a little further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the basis that the conversations/events in my earlier fic [Confessions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1089131) took place. When Quinn and Carrie talk about his reasons for moving his place of residence, they are consistent with the reasons given in my earlier fic [Unexpected Insights](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1085321). You don't have to have read the fics, I just _try_ to make sure the stories I write are internally consistent.

There's a loud knock on the door and Quinn frowns. It's been a very long day at work and he's not expecting anyone to come knocking on his door at this hour of night.

He reaches for his Glock, dims the light in the dining room and walks to the front door and looks out.

"Quinn, you can put the fucking gun away, it's just me," Carrie says impatiently through the door.

Swearing under his breath, Quinn puts his Glock into the back of his jeans and unlocks the front door. Carrie's standing on his doorstep holding a shopping bag that looks heavy. He takes it from her immediately.

"You know you shouldn't be carrying heavy things," he tells her automatically and she rolls her eyes and walks inside without being invited. She looks calm and relaxed. 

"Come in," he says to the air and then closes the door after her. "Mind telling me how you know where I live?" he demands.

"Got Virgil to tail you once," she says airily. "I assumed you'd moved since they made you at your last place," she tells him.

"Like that," he concedes ruefully.

She looks around the entrance hall quizzically. There is no furniture and the bookshelf is completely bare of books. She turns on the light and walks around the house, noting all of the empty cupboards and shelves. To call it Spartan would be an understatement.

The dining room contains one small table and fold-out chair and a backpack. She stares at him with a frown on her face. He feels ridiculously defensive.

"I only moved in recently."

"Bull shit, you've been here months," she retorts. 

The kitchen has a coffee machine, coffee and a bag of granola on the counter. She peers into the fridge curiously. "Geez Quinn, no wonder you spend so much time at the office and at my house," she calls over her shoulder as she goes to inspect the bedroom.

That's even worse – just a single, fold-out camp bed with a khaki sleeping bag. There's nothing personal in the house, nothing that gives any hint of the person who lives here except that it's someone who needs to be able to leave in a hurry.

"You're really taking your whole Carlos the Jackal thing kind of seriously," she remarks. 

"Please - make yourself at home," he tells her sarcastically. "Any particular reason for this visit, Carrie?" he asks her. He peers into the bag and notices a case of beer and a bottle of wine.

"You're not allowed to drink," he tells her with a disapproving tone in his voice.

"Christ, Quinn. You're worse than Maggie. I brought grape juice over for me," she tells him and he sees that the bottle is actually grape juice.

"Why are you here, Carrie?" he asks.

"I didn't hear from you today."

"And you just wanted to make sure I was ok – that's touching," Quinn says mockingly.

She stops pacing the room and stares at him. "Yeah. Well it's not like you to miss our evening walk."

"Sorry. I had back to back meetings today – by the time I got out of Langley, I thought it was probably too late to drop by your place."

"I figured that, so I came here instead," she tells him. "Unless you have another date?"

"Shut up, Carrie," he tells her mildly. "You'd better sit down," he says and goes into the bedroom and carries the fold-out bed into the dining room where he puts it against the wall and she sits down and arranges herself so that she is leaning against the pillow.

Quinn rolls up the sleeping bag and tosses it on the ground and sits on that, leaning against the wall near the camp bed.

"Classy," she remarks when he reaches up and hands her a paper cup for her grape juice. He opens a can of the beer and takes a swallow. She looks around the empty room. "You don't ever feel lonely living like this?"

He shrugs. "Used to it. Used to getting up and moving with no notice. No point buying furniture if you're just going to move."

"Maggie's started hinting that I should buy baby furniture," Carrie tells him with a grimace. "Very unsubtle – leaving IKEA catalogues on my table open at the baby furniture section."

Quinn smiles. He admires Maggie Mathison's stubborn determination to try to create normalcy in a family where chaos seems to reign. "Can't blame her for trying."

Carrie looks at him. "I can't even think about baby furniture … I'm still stuck at the part about how I tell the baby that its father was a suspected terrorist who died in circumstances that I can never talk about because it was a matter of national security."

"I think you'll cross that bridge when you come to it," Quinn says evenly.

"There's more. Brody failed with the suicide vest, Quinn – but he was involved in the death of Vice President Walden."

Quinn says nothing. He finishes his beer and reaches for the grape juice instead.

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," he replies. Internally, he questions whether if given the opportunity again, would he have put that bullet in Brody's head when he had the chance? He concludes he would still have spared the man.

"Walden and Estes were responsible for the 2009 drone strike that killed 82 children," she tells him. Quinn takes a swallow of the grape juice. He says nothing and his face is expressionless.

"Are you ever surprised by anything, Quinn?" she demands impatiently.

"These days – not much." 

Carrie drains her cup of grape juice and wishes it was alcoholic. "Can I have some of the beer instead?"

"Absolutely not," he tells her firmly.

"Worth a try," she tells him as he pours her another cup of grape juice. "You're not going to ask me why I knew all that and still slept with him?"

"Nope," Quinn says quietly. "I'm not your priest."

"And I didn't come here to seek absolution," she says irritably.

"I'm assuming you're here to talk – so I'm here to listen not judge," he tells her mildly.

Carrie's hands tremble slightly and she puts the cup on the ground. "I told myself that Walden deserved it. He had blood on his hands - his death was justified."

"And now?"

"Nazir had me prisoner – said that if Brody didn't cooperate, then he would kill me," she tells him. "But I can't pretend that what Brody did wasn't wrong," she tells him. 

Quinn exhales slowly. "I told you before about [the Tin Man mission](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1089131)."

"Quinn – that was an accident. Completely different, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was," he tells her steadily. "It was an accident, a horrible mistake but it was still my fault." He closes his eyes. "The boy was only nine … in the dark, alone and afraid – looking for his father ... and I shot and killed him." He opens his eyes. "My mistake, my fault - I'm going to live with that for the rest of my life."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"That you can't change the past. You can't change what Brody did, what you did. Beating yourself up about it doesn't change a fucking thing. All you can do is keep going and try to do the right thing."

"And that's what you do?" she asks him.

"Yes."

"What do I say to the people who wonder if I’m carrying a terrorist's baby? A murderer's baby?"

"First of all - it's _your_ baby. Second of all – that baby hasn't done a thing wrong. End of story."

Carrie is silent.

"Is anything I'm saying sinking in?" he asks her and she nods slowly. 

"When I was in Tehran, Javadi told me that no one's just one thing."

"He's a psychopath who understands human nature," Quinn says grimly. "But you know he's right. We're all a combination of the things we do – the good things, the fuck-ups. It's what you do going forward that counts."

They are silent, listening to the sound of the traffic in the street.

"Thank you," she tells him.

"For what?"

"Much as I hate therapy … talking … helps."

"So I hear," Quinn agrees. Carrie looks at him. "What?" he asks her.

"You tell me about some things – but nothing about your family."

"That's just it, Carrie, I don't have a family – and that, too is my fault." His voice discourages further discussion on the matter.

Carrie looks down at her hands. "Well this therapy session is about me after all and since I'm telling all … did you know I tried to kill myself once?"

Quinn stiffens. He resists the urge to get up and go and sit beside her on the camp bed. "Why the fuck would you try to do something as stupid as that, Carrie?" he demands.

Carrie shrugs, looking to the side, looking upwards, anywhere except Quinn's fierce glare.

"Back when we had a lead on Nazir in Beirut, after I got back – I stupidly thought that Estes was going to let me go back to my old job … " she gives a twisted smile. "Of course not. I was so fucked in the head to even think that. This is before we found Brody's video confession … I swallowed all the pills I could find, washed them down with wine, lay down on my bed and prepared to die – very melodramatic – and fucking pathetic."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Carrie. _Fuck_ ," Quinn mutters and the horror and grief in his voice is strangely comforting and reassuring to her. 

"Well I'm still here," she says, spreading her hands out with a wry smile.

"What happened?"

"Changed my mind … made myself throw up all the pills … ten minutes later, Saul's at my door with a copy of the video evidence telling me that I'm not crazy – that I've been right all along …" There are tears in her eyes.

Quinn gets to his feet and goes and sits down beside her, leaning against the wall.

"Does anyone know about this?" 

She shakes her head. "No …just you."

"Never do something like that again," he tells her.

"I won't," she promises him. "It was a really, _really_ bad time time … I was lost … felt like I had no one …"

"It's not like that anymore," he tells her and she nods and gives a twisted smile. 

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out," she says. "Flying back from Tehran … I thought Saul would be here … but I knew you'd be here," she tells him.

"You're welcome," he tells her.

They talk for a time about his day, about her day but both deliberately stick to innocuous topics. Eventually, Carrie struggles to her feet. "I need to pee and then I'm going home," she tells him.

When she comes back in the room, he is holding her keys in his hand. "It's late and I'm driving you home."

"Don't be an idiot," she retorts. "Just because I’m pregnant doesn't mean I can't drive home. Besides, I've had grape juice and you had beer."

"I switched to grape juice after the first can because I knew that I was going to be driving you home," he tells her firmly.

She complains some more but gives up once she's in his car and he's driving her home.

"HR phoned, getting everything ready for me going back next week."

"That's good," he tells her, pulling up into her driveway and walking her to the door.

"Thanks for driving me home – and the company."

"No problem." He smiles.

"You're sticking around, right?" she asks him. He looks confused. 

"What?"

"You said you needed to be able to move quickly … but you're sticking around this time, aren't you?"

"Oh … yeah," he tells her. "I'll be around."

"Good to hear. G'night."

"Good night, Carrie."

He waits until she's inside and then walks back to his car.

 

*

The next day, she lets him know that Maggie has given her a ride to pick up her car from out the front of his place. When he gets home from work, Carrie's car is gone.

Stopping at the mailbox, he pulls out his mail and stares at the IKEA catalogue stuffed inside.

There's an Alan Key taped to the front of the catalogue and a note from Carrie inside.

_Since you're sticking around, you should probably buy some more furniture._

_\- Carrie_

Quinn walks into the house carrying the catalogue and there is a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **its-something** said: _"Also, oh god, why did it have to be IKEA? I can already see a future chapter where poor Quinn is going out of his mind trying to assemble a bookcase but there's missing/extra pieces."_ [Here's](http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/1460753.html) a fluffy little fic at my livejournal written for **its-something**.


	9. Fragment: Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little conversation between Fara and Quinn. Fiona was mentioning that Quinn's desire to leave the CIA was a storyline that really got short shrift once the main plot picked up steam. When Brody came back on the scene there really wasn't any time to deal with Quinn's storyline unfortunately. I liked the idea of the two remaining team mates having a bit of a chat about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assumes that the conversations and events of [That Thing On Your Head](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1094260) took place.

Quinn walks past the meeting room where Fara is sitting with a colleague at a computer and discussing something on the screen very animatedly. Whatever the debate, Fara appears to win because she nods, smiles and rises to her feet to return to her seat. 

When she catches sight of Quinn through the glass, she glances at her watch in visible dismay and then back at him.

He shakes his head at her and watches as she turns to speak to another colleague who nods, smiles and waves his hand. Fara reaches for her hand bag, slings it over her shoulder and walks out of the meeting room, the long heavy fabric of her skirt making a soft sound.

"You forgot."

"I'm sorry," Fara tells him, her dark eyes genuinely apologetic.

"You're the one who wanted to meet up in the first place," he points out with amusement. "It's fine, I know how excited you accountants get about your financial statements," he remarks.

"We have a very significant lead on some money laundering originating out of Venezuela." 

"Fara – I don't mean to rain on your parade - but that's kind of yesterday's news. There's been a long and eventful relationship between the US and Venezuela for a very long time."

"I am aware of that, Peter," she tells him haughtily. "But we have been able to trace some of these funds to certain key terrorist groups operating here in the US."

"It's good that some people enjoy their jobs," Quinn comments as they walk through the main lobby and out the door.

They buy a coffee and then walk outside to drink it, sitting on a bench that gives them a view of the construction site. As always, it's a sobering sight ... a place where so many died.

"Where were you when it happened?" Fara asks curiously. Fara remembers that she was in her office at the bank, being congratulated for closing an extremely large offshore acquisition. She also remembers the CIA's almost desperate recruitment drive for Farsi speakers following the tragedy and the days of soul-searching before she decided to apply.

"I was actually supposed to be here attending the service – but .." he pauses. "I'd just had a run-in with Estes and he didn't want me anywhere within spitting distance of him after that," Quinn replies carefully. It was odd that his refusal to follow Estes' order to kill Brody had resulted in an informal banishment which had inadvertently saved his life. He didn't want to think about all of the other lives that had been lost, though.

"You must lead a charmed life," Fara observes.

"Thanks for the coffee," Quinn says, holding up his cup and changing the subject. 

"You're welcome. Thank you for meeting me."

Quinn smiles at her formality. "No problem. What's up?" he asks her curiously.

She looks at him squarely. "Saul phoned me."

Quinn nodded. "Thought he might.

"Are you going to accept?" she asks him.

"I haven't decided what I'm doing next."

"Are you waiting to see what Carrie does?" Fara asks him and Quinn doesn't look at her.

"She isn't taking Saul's calls right now. He hasn't had a chance to make her an offer yet. I don't think she'd take him up on it anyway."

"No?" Fara asks.

"I can't see her going private … Carrie's one of those strange animals who believes in certain ideals … She's a patriot - probably here for life," Quinn remarks.

"Aren't you?" Fara asks him curiously. "Didn't you join because of ideals?"

Quinn slants a smile at her. "I thought we were here to talk about your life choices, Fara. Not mine."

Fara nods slowly, aware that he wants to change the topic again. She has never met such a private person as Peter Quinn. "Carrie has sacrificed so much …she is, quite amazing." Her voice is low and respectful. "I am also thinking of staying," Fara says quietly. Quinn stays silent. "Like Carrie … I feel like there are things that I can do to help… "

"What does your father think about this? You made more as a merchant banker."

"Much more," Fara said with a wry smile. "But it's not just about money. And yes, like many of my … choices – he is not very happy about this one either."

Quinn nods "If you're worried about Saul – don't. He'll understand. He would have been a lifer, too if things hadn't gone down the way they had."

Fara touches her headscarf lightly, her eyes distant and Quinn glances at her. 

"The hijab is your right, Fara. Saul was out of line and he knows it – he actually does respect your cultural beliefs."

Fara touches the hair revealed by the deep red head scarf she is wearing. "Actually Peter, the fact that I am not covering up my hair completely is considered to be a big fuck you to many people."

Quinn laughs despite himself. Unlike others of his acquaintance, profanity does not fall naturally from Fara Sherazi's lips.

He stands and takes Fara's empty cup from her, going to throw it in the trash.

"Do you think I am making the right decision, Peter?" she asks him seriously.

"Only you can know that, Fara," he tells her honestly. "But you're right. In this job, we can do a lot of good. We can also do a lot of evil and sometimes, so much shit clouds the way that it's hard to know the difference …"

Fara nods. "I am aware that it is easy to lose one's way … but people can help one another …so that even when person loses his way – another can help him regain his clarity."

Quinn nods. "Next coffee is on me," he tells her as he returns to his desk. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and sends a text message.

_Glad you're coming back next week._

He sits at his desk and logs into his computer. His phone beeps and he pulls it out and looks at the screen.

_Are you drinking at work???_

The report is tortuously lengthy and convoluted but there's a smile on Quinn's lips.


	10. Fragment: Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fragment about Carrie's return to work following her month off and also a memorial service for another American whose body is buried somewhere in Iran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fragment assumes that the events of my earlier fic [Killing the Spare](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1091992) took place. I'm not setting up an alternate ship or manufacturing conflict. In my mind - when Quinn has established that Carrie is 'all right', he would step back and give her space.

A week back at work and Carrie is surprised at how right it feels to be back. Richard Brouwer the new Middle East Division Chief is an unexpectedly reasonable man, flatteringly grateful to have Carrie working for him. Middle aged, tall, blue-eyed and fair with a receding hairline he couldn't be more different to Saul Berenson.

"I was Pakistan Station Chief – one whose identity wasn't exposed. Wonders will never cease," he tells her with a wry smile on her first day.

He is a calm, contemplative polite man although prepared to be hard and stubborn when necessary. Although Carrie had arrived prepared to hate him for not being Saul, she finds herself liking and respecting the man despite herself.

"I know a little of what happened in Tehran, Carrie. You did a wonderful job – but I am very sorry for your loss," he tells her with a sincere note in his voice. "I’m also glad that you decided to return despite … everything."

"Thank you, sir," she tells him warily.

"It's just Richard," he tells her.

During her first week, he insists that she eases back into work gradually and her task is to review the debriefing notes from the Tehran mission with a view to formulating a strategy for handling their new Iranian asset. 

"The other analysts in the group are here to support your endeavours – give you the intel you need," he tells her. "We are keeping Javadi's identity on a need to know basis only … his position is precarious and if there are any information leaks, not only will his life be forfeit but we will lose an invaluable asset." Carrie agrees with the circumspection but can't help wondering if it's a little bit late. As far as she's concerned, too many people already know about Javadi.

Nonetheless, work is remarkably civilised and she is surprised at how much she is enjoying being involved again. The other analysts regard her with an air of wary admiration. While they don't know the full details of what happened in Tehran, they know that despite all of her prior missteps, she's on first name basis with the prior and current Middle East Division Chiefs and that the CIA Director checks in on her personally.

"So how does it feel to be back?" Quinn asks when she finally calls him. She's been back at work three days but hasn't heard a word from him.

"Good," she says with an air of surprise. She is keeping very sane working hours – a complete contrast to Fara and Quinn who are working absolutely insane hours following Fara's lead into one of the key Venezuelan drug cartels.

"How did you get roped in on that one?" she asks him curiously.

"Fara's been analysing the financials – I got brought in because I still have contacts in Venezuela. Sorry I haven't called – I've been wanting to see how you were but it's been crazy," he tells her, running his hand through his hair as he stands in the corner of the meeting room that is overflowing with boxes that are spilling their files onto the table and ground.

"That's fine .. totally fine …" she tells him. "I'm fine – and you've done more than enough … really."

"Sorry – I've gotta go – got a video link-up with Caracas …" he says regretfully as Fara and the rest of the team are gesturing madly at him to get off the phone.

The phone clicks and Carrie's mouth twists in a faintly wry smile. There's something strange being the one already at home while her colleagues are still back at the office.

*

They finally catch up for a coffee two weeks after her return to work – in Carrie's case a herbal tea. "I'll be back for our daily walks soon," he promises her and she smiles and nods. "You doing all right?"

"Great ..." she says, sounding surprised and Quinn takes a swallow of his coffee.

"I'm surprised I haven't heard of you ripping Brouwer's head off."

"He's remarkably reasonable," Carrie remarked, sounding very surprised.

"Is he smart enough for you?" Quinn wants to know.

"He'll do," Carrie said grudgingly. After a moment's silence, she remarks,"The Venezuelan team seems to be growing by the day."

Quinn nods. "Fara caught a live one … we're getting close. I'll probably have to head over at some point."

"You working over the weekend?" she asks him and he shakes his head.

He hesitates before replying. "No … I've got Turani's memorial service to attend."

Carrie turns and stares at him, a frown on her face.

*

They stand beneath the tree at a distance from the rest of the attendees at the service. The gardens are quiet and beautiful, rows of chairs placed near a fountain and the ceremony is informal, with people getting up and walking to the front to speak.

"You should be sitting down," Quinn tells her.

"I’m fine, Quinn," she replies, her eyes not moving from the young dark-haired woman sitting in the front row, a baby in her arms.

Quinn turns his gaze back on the mourners. There is no body to bury. Youself Turani's friends, family and comrades are attending a memorial service not a funeral. Ester Turani has elected not to have a service with an empty casket, eschewing the pretence that there is a body when there is not.

"What's his son's name?" Carrie wants to know.

"Devon," Quinn says after a pause.

Like his mother, Devon Turani will never know exactly how his father died. He will never know where his father was at the time of his death or why he died. His mother will not be able to answer his questions as she herself does not know.

Following Javadi's rise to power and with Saul's absence, it had been Quinn who had attempted to locate and repatriate the bodies of Yousef Turani and Nicholas Brody. He had been advised that both were buried in unmarked graves, a fate reserved for enemies of the state and that it was impossible to disinter either without arousing suspicion.

"Peter – I think you'll understand that we cannot jeopardise all that we have fought so hard to achieve by asking Javadi to compromise his position by retrieving the bodies and helping to send them back here," Lockhart had explained, his face reasonable, his voice calm.

The pragmatist within Quinn understands. It would be extremely difficult to guarantee the secrecy of an operation to locate, disinter, use forensic analysis to confirm the identities of the bodies and then transport the bodies back to the US. Another part of Quinn pities the loved ones of the dead who do not have a body over which to grieve for closure.

Accordingly, he was more than a little surprised when Carrie insisted on coming with him to Turani's service. 

"Did you even know him?" he had asked curiously.

Carrie had nodded. "He was the medic who helped Brody through his withdrawal …" Turani had showed compassion and a genuine humanity in his dealings with the former marine. On Brody's final night stateside, he had followed them when Brody went to see Dana rather than alert command – which would have resulted in Brody being confined to base.

"He was a good man," Quinn says, genuine sorrow in his eyes which are dark with emotion. He has been assured that Turani was not tortured prior to his death – that he had been given a quick and merciful death. Although this was a relief for Quinn, it's not something that can be shared with Ester Turani.

As the service ends, Carrie's eyes are shining with tears as she studies Turani's widow and his son. "I want to talk to her."

"Carrie …. you've just come back … are you sure you want to do this?" Quinn asks her seriously. She gives him a very twisted smile.

"Are you afraid I'm going to freak out, Quinn? Fall apart and start tearing my hair here?"

"No, of course not," he replies. "But you've been through enough."

"So has she," Carrie says indicating Ester Turani who is standing to accept condolences from the mourners who are taking their leave of her.

Eventually, she looks up and stares at Quinn and Carrie who she can see in the distance. A faint look of curiosity comes into her eyes and she walks towards them, holding her baby in her arms.

Ester Turani is a tall and serene-looking woman with dark hair drawn back in a loose braid and light, translucent green eyes. Light golden freckles are sprinkled over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are swollen and red and she looks drained as if she has no more tears. By contrast, the chubby baby in her arms lies quietly, blinking at them with interest. He is dark-eyed like his father.

"Do I know you?" she asks them.

"We worked with your husband, Mrs Turani," Quinn tells her respectfully. A look of comprehension sweeps over Ester's face and she lowers her head for a moment as if to compose herself.

"Peter Quinn," Quinn says, extending a hand which she takes.

"Carrie Mathison."

Ester's voice is halting. "I know you can't tell me anything … no one seems to be able to give me any answers – but tell me … did Yousef suffer?"

"He did not," Quinn tells her sincerely and Ester stares into his eyes fiercely. She satisfies herself that he is telling the truth and there is relief in her face.

"All these weeks … I've been wondering … how did he die? Was he alone? Did he suffer? What will I tell Devon?"

"Your husband died a hero, Mrs Turani," Carrie assures her. "I had the honour of working with him on his last mission. He provided invaluable assistance to another member of his team … "

Quinn glances quickly at Carrie, his gaze betraying his concern that she will reveal too much.

"It's all right, Mr Quinn," Ester says with a sad and knowing smile. "I know it's classified – I won't ask too many questions." She glances at Carrie whose pregnancy is just starting to show, the curve of her abdomen stretching at her blouse and trousers. 

Her eyes flick back to Carrie's face. "The team member – did he survive?" 

Carrie shook her head. She swallows hard. "No … he didn't. But he was able to complete the mission. Without your husband - it wouldn't have been possible for him to do that."

"I’m very sorry for your loss," Ester tells her gently.

"Yousef was a good man and he will be missed," Quinn tells her. 

Ester nods. "I always wanted him to quit and get a 'normal' job … but he loved what he was doing too much to stop." Her smile is filled with pain and Quinn's throat tightens.

Ester wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "They told me that it was impossible to bring his body back to me … but I still wanted to do … something."

"It was a beautiful service," Quinn assures her and Ester nods gratefully.

"Thank you. Thank you both for coming …" Ester reaches out and takes Carrie's hand. "Good luck with your baby, Ms Mathison," she tells her gently before walking away from them to her family who are waiting for her.

"We should go," Quinn tells Carrie.

"No, not yet …" Carrie says slowly, her gaze falling on a figure waiting in the car park.

The dark-haired bearded man in a wheel-chair glances up when he realises that he is being watched. Recognition creeps into his light eyes and he waits as Carrie approaches him, Quinn at her side.

"AZ?" she greets him and he smiles at her. He is pale and drawn, his eyes bloodshot. Pain has caused the lines bracketing his mouth and Carrie and Quinn try not to look at the bandaged stump of his leg.

"Quinn – this is Hafez Azizi. AZ – this is Peter Quinn. "

The men shake hands. AZ's hands aren't quite steady but his clasp is firm.

"I heard Brody completed the mission," AZ says to Carrie.

Carrie nods. "Yes. He did. Thanks to you and the rest of the team."

"I also heard what happened to him," AZ says in a low voice.

Carrie nods.

"He was all right for a fucking jarhead," AZ tells her. "Saved my life, if not my leg – but I can't complain."

"How's the rehab going?" Quinn asks him.

"Slow … painful as all fuck … but I'll get there," AZ says with his slow, calming drawl. "If I'm good, they'll help me out with a half decent prosthetic."

"Thank you for everything you did," Carrie tells him unexpectedly and AZ grins.

"My pleasure ma'am. You take care for yourself. Good to meet you," he says nodding at Quinn.

The drive back to Washington is a long and silent one, both preoccupied with their own thoughts. 

Quinn is hoping that they don't get burned during this latest foray into Venezuela. The Agency is extra cautious these days given the CIA's prior history in the country – the allegations of participation in drug smuggling that predate his time with the Agency. As a consequence, every step of the operation is being second-guessed, every local asset is being shadowed and monitored.

Carrie is thinking about the man whose body is buried in an unmarked grave somewhere where in Iran and who will never even receive a memorial service in honour of his sacrifice...


	11. Fragment: Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two scenes of awkwardness that I imagine might have taken place during the "Missing Four Months".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again not really shippy per se ... just adding colour and background ...

"Carrie!" Virgil's voice is genuinely pleased. As Carrie turns to face him, his smile slips slightly. With great effort he manages to keep his eyes from dropping to the swell of her belly. 

"Virgil, it's good to see you again," Carrie tells him, feeling ridiculously happy to see him.

Virgil steps forward and hugs her awkwardly. They've never really hugged before and now with her abdomen in the way, it's even more strange but it seems like the thing to do. "Congratulations on the baby - I heard the good news," he tells her, still keeping his eyes fixed on her face and not on her belly.

"Good news?" Carrie questions cynically. She notices Max standing to the side with his characteristically sullen expression.

"Max," she greets him with a nod.

"Hey," he acknowledges her by raising his hand slightly in a half wave. He continues to stand a short distance away, hands in the pocket of his jacket and his shoulders hunched forward slightly.

"What are you guys here for?" Carrie asks curiously.

"Quinn and Fara asked us to come in."

"Jesus, is everyone working on Venezuela?" Carrie demands and Virgil shrugs.

"Beats me."

Carrie glances at her watch. "I gotta go … but it was good to see you again."

"Yeah," Virgil agrees. He hesitates. "I wanted to see you after you got … back. They said it might be better to give you some time."

Carrie nods. Not quite sure what to say. The 'relationship' with Virgil has never really involved talking about anything other than work.

"See you soon," she tells him finally and he nods.

"Glad you're ok Carrie." Finally, he allows himself to look at her stomach.

"Do you get special parking?"

She shakes her head, laughing as she leaves. 

Virgil watches her walk away. He glances back at Max who is staring at silently.

"What?" he demands defensively.

Max shakes his head and says nothing, starting to walk towards the doorway leading to the foyer.

"Out with it – you're judging me."

"She's pregnant. With Brody's kid," Max points out. Virgil says nothing. "The guy she thought was a traitor – had us monitoring him illegally … guy put her in a hospital to have her brains fried… screwed her over a dozen different ways and she's having his kid."

Virgil glares at his younger brother. "I didn't bring you up to be so judgmental. Come on, we're late," he says and walks towards the foyer quickly, leaving Max behind.

Max rolls his eyes and follows behind his older brother the way he always does.

*

"Quinn –in the briefing room with us in five minutes," Carrie says, sticking her head into the meeting room where Quinn is conferring with the Venezuela team.

"What?" Quinn demands. "I'm on temporary assignment to South America Desk – "

Carrie shrugs. "Both Dar Adal and Brouwer are saying that they want you in on this briefing – you're going to have to leave the cool kids for a bit."

"Sorry," Quinn apologises to the other members of his team. Pulling a jacket of his rumpled shirt, he falls into step beside Carrie. "What's going on?"

"I'm guessing it's something to do with the latest drone clusterfuck," Carrie says under her breath.

"Great," Quinn mutters. "Who have we accidentally killed now? More school kids? A bunch of nursing mothers?"

"I'm guessing we're going to find out," Carrie replies.

"Who's giving the briefing?"

"Ryan of course."

"That little prick," the both mutter at the same time and a smile flickers over their faces.

The media has estimated that the expansion of the CIA's targeted killing program has killed between 2,528 and 3,648 individuals in Pakistan alone since 2004. Between 416 and 948 of those killed in drone strikes have been civilians although there has never been any official confirmation of either set of statistics – there probably never will be.

Quinn pulls open the door for Carrie to walk through and he follows behind. There are two seats free at the front of the room and Scott Ryan is standing at the front, looking distracted and slightly annoyed as usual.

"Now you're here we can start," he says, with faint reproof in his voice.

Carrie and Quinn exchange speaking glances.

Ryan starts talking about a recent drone strike in Yemen that was supposedly targetting an Al-Qaeda militant but has ended up and killing dozens and injuring dozens more.

"An internal review of the drone missile strike has been launched."

Carrie looks surprised. Quinn looks sceptical.

"Given that there are claims of civilian casualties, we are reviewing it. Before we take any counterterrorism strike outside areas of active hostilities, there must be near-certainty that no civilians will be killed or injured – the highest standard we can set. When we believe that civilians may have been killed, we investigate thoroughly," Ryan tells them, parroting from a well-used script.

"Relevance to us?" Carrie demands.

"Recent unfortunate incidents have led to an increased scrutiny into the drone programme. We're asking you to triple check your intelligence sources."

"From memory, the Yemen targets were supposed to be dangerous Al-Qaeda militants …"

"That's right. It was reported that Shawqi Ali Ahmed Al-Badani, a "mid-level" operative suspected of organising a terror plot that led to a shutdown of numerous US embassies around the globe in August was there."

"So who did we kill?" Quinn demands.

"That is still unclear," Ryan says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "There are local reports of civilian deaths. We have been told that NBC News has obtained video and photos taken following the strike."

"And?"

"The images show dead young men who villagers said were in the convoy heading to a wedding celebration when two Hellfire missiles were fired by a US drone."

"We killed a fucking wedding party?" Quinn demanded incredulously.

"Nothing has been confirmed yet, Quinn," Dar Adal says reprovingly. 

Quinn shoots his former master a look of disgust. He can almost see Dar Adal gloating. He knows that Dar Adal prays for the drone programme to be discredited so that he can return to the good old days of targeted killings by secret assassinations. Poison, shootings, faked suicides. Adal's morbid enjoyment of dark theatre is offended by the indiscriminate killing power of a drone strike. It's hard to be a Machiavellian chess master when the drone programme is comprised of just blowing things up.

"White House and Pentagon officials have been shown the video but have declined to comment. We are not sure if the results will be made public now that NBC has its hands on it."

"So was Badani even there?" Carrie demands.

Brouwer speaks up. "There doesn't appear to have been any sign of Badani in the area. Locals say that it's unlikely he would have been invited to a wedding of two people from neighbouring villages. Our on the ground intelligence was clearly misplaced."

"So you're telling me that we saw a group of people waiting in trucks for a convoy and assumed they were militants and ended up killing a bunch of shepherds and khat farmers?"

"They were carrying rifles," Ryan tells him sternly.

"And that’s not uncommon at all for a wedding party," Carrie points out.

"Yeah - in an Arab wedding, it is a tradition for people to carry arms - they shoot bullets in the air as a form of expression. That’s how they celebrate a wedding," Quinn tells Ryan with a look that tells him exactly what he thinks of him.

"People – the bottom line is that I want everyone being even more vigilant when sourcing information about insurgent whereabouts," Brouwer tells the group gravely. "This isn't about covering our asses our pointing the finger of blame – let's just make sure this doesn’t happen again. Thanks for your time."

The others leave the room but Carrie and Quinn remain in their seats. 

Ryan pretends not to notice their stares as he turns off the monitors. The silence is almost deafening and then he speaks.

"Look – I know how you both feel about the drone program but at the end of the day it saves American lives."

"You seriously believe that?" Carrie demands incredulously. "So Ryan - how many women and children have you seen incinerated by a Hellfire missile? How many men have you seen crawl across a field, trying to make it to the nearest compound for help while bleeding out from severed legs?" 

Quinn nods in agreement. "Drone video isn't clear enough to detect someone carrying a weapon even in the best of conditions. It's fucking hard for even the best analysts to know if someone's got weapons?"

"You prefer the up close and personal approach, Quinn?" Ryan snaps at him, his temper at breaking point.

Quinn smiles. "I know exactly how many people I've killed Ryan. I've seen their faces, I know all about them. I know why I killed them. I take responsibility for their deaths." His voice is cold. "How about you? Those drone strikes you helped coordinate –you know how many people you've killed? How many people you killed because the pixelated image you thought was a weapon was a fucking shovel?"

Ryan takes his headset off and puts it in his pocket. "Fuck you," he says evenly. "I'm just doing my job – same as the both of you. You don't get to fucking judge me. Not now, not ever. What went down in Tehran was exactly what should have happened."

Carrie looks as though she is about to jump to her feet and fly at Ryan and rip out his throat but Quinn puts his hand out to steady her. He grips her firmly by the arm.

"Carrie. Don't." His voice is calm and emphatic. "He's not worth it. Seriously." She looks at him furiously but she stays put, her breathing returns to normal and her dilated pupils shrink back to normal. She nods slowly and the two of them get up and leave the room without a backward glance.

Scott Ryan looks down at his hands. They're shaking slightly. He drops himself down into a chair and stares around the empty room.

He's not the bad guy here. He's not the villain in the piece. 

He puts his head into his hands and forces himself to take deep breaths. Some days it's harder than others to convince himself.


	12. Fragment: Confidante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockhart makes Carrie an offer and she needs to talk about it with someone - but who is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the end of the fourth month of the Missing Four Months. From "The Star" it was clear that Lockhart had broached Istanbul with Carrie earlier but she only told Quinn about it a week later - I wanted to figure out why and how that situation came about.

Carrie's hands are almost steady as she puts the cup down on Lockhart's table.

"That's quite a lot to think about, sir," she says quietly.

"But you'll think about it?"

"Yes," she tells him. "Thank you for thinking of me."

She rises to her feet and walks out the door, her heading spinning.

 _Fuck_. Station Chief? She hadn't known what to expect when she was summoned to Lockhart's office but it certainly wasn't an offer of Station Chief of Istanbul.

Habit almost makes her want to call Saul but she resists. Not only does Saul no longer have his security clearance – she's still not ready to talk to him.

Without realising where she is walking, she goes in search of Fara. The young woman is frowning at a monitor when Carrie walks in.

"Carrie," she greets her, a look of genuine pleasure on her face.

"Hey Fara. Can I have a quick word?"

Fara nods and walks over to the corner, tilting her head. "You look a bit flushed, Carrie … are you all right? Do you want to sit down?"

"I'm fine," Carrie says almost abruptly. "But thanks for asking," she adds hastily, belatedly remembering her manners. Fara smiles. "I'm assuming you have a way to contact Quinn?"

"Yes of course," Fara tells her. "He arrived in Caracas yesterday …"

"I'm sorry to ask you this – but can you ask him to call me when he has time?"

Fara nods. "Of course." She looks at Carrie in concern "Is there something I can help you with?" she asks and Carrie shakes her head, her smile tight.

"Not this time." She glances around the room. "How's it all going?"

Fara shrugs. "We have to be careful … relations are still very bad."

"No kidding – Yankee go home?" Carrie says, referring to President Maduro's recent expulsion from the country of three US diplomats.

"There's that," Fara nods. "In September, French police confiscated more than 1.3 metric tons of cocaine hidden in 31 suitcases on an Air France flight from Simon Bolívar International Airport in Caracas."

"What's new though? Venezuela's always been a transshipment point for drugs from Colombia headed for the US and Europe. It's only got worse since Chávez kicked the DEA out in 2005."

"Yes, and there are more corrupt officials in Venezuela who are willing to help traffickers. We also know that there are military officials working closely with the Mexican drug cartels. The traffickers don't need to use clandestine routes or measures to ship the drugs anymore - they can do it openly with the help of corrupt authorities."

"And the current operation?"

Fara frowns. "Many believe that the armed forces are actively involved in the drug trade but other people say that only a few corrupt officers are connected to traffickers. We have found a money trail going back to a _Cartel de los Soles_ ," she says, referring to the shadowy cartel alleged to exist within the Venezuelan military. "With this, we hope to prove that they are funding terrorist cells here in the United States."

"I might have the numbers wrong but weren't the Venezuelan authorities claiming that they've arrested over a hundred narcotics kingpins?"

"Yes, this may be true and their claim to have shut down 141 drug laboratories may also be true but we believe that _Cartel de los Soles_ take out the competition … they seize drug shipments and shut down drug labs only when they have not received a pay-off."

"And what's Quinn doing there?"

"He has several contacts there from his previous work into the cartels. We are hoping that he can cultivate one or more into an asset for us."

Carrie nods. "I hope it all goes well," she tells Fara.

"Thank you." Fara hesitates. "And I hope that you and I get the chance to work together again," she tells the older woman earnestly. Carrie looks startled. "I will ask Peter to call you."

"Thanks," Carrie mumbles and leaves the room.

*

The phone is in her pocket rings and Carrie pulls it out of her pocket and answers on the first ring. 

"That was quick," she says a little breathlessly.

"You ok? Fara said you needed to talk."

"Yeah …" Carrie says, sinking down onto the couch and frowning at the empty wall ahead of her. "Although I guess you've got a lot on right now – any of the proposed targets female?"

Quinn gives a short laugh. "Carrie, I usually shoot my targets not fuck them."

"Is that supposed to be a dig at me?" she demands defensively.

"No, it's a statement of fact – not everything anyone says is about the great Carrie Mathison."

"So you're not there to act as a honey trap."

"No," he says. "Is that why you wanted to talk to me?"

"No. And when the fuck did you put a new burner phone in my kitchen?" she demands, staring at the brand new cell phone in her hand for a moment.

"Just before I headed off for Venezuela," he tells her.

"I’m not sure if I like you poking around in my cupboards like that, Quinn."

"So this is why you wanted to talk?" he asks her.

"No," she says with a frown. 

"Is the baby ok?" he asks her and she nods even though he can't see her. 

"Yeah .. fine," she says absently, rubbing her hand over her belly with a distracted look in her eyes. Quinn waits patiently. "Lockhart made me an offer today …"

"I thought he was married."

"So not funny, Quinn. You're lucky I'm not nauseous anymore," Carrie retorts.

"What kind of offer?"

Carrie exhales slowly. "Actually … I'll tell you about it when you get back … now probably isn't the best time to go into it …given where you are ... this being a phone conversation and all ..." she trails off, shaking her head at even contemplating discussing such sensitive matters over a phone line.

"OK."

"I guess I just wanted to talk to someone …" her voice trails off and she finds herself scowling.

"Next you're going to tell me that you missed me."

There's an extremely long and awkward silence. "And would that be so bad?" She asks him abruptly.

"No, just kind of unlikely given that I know exactly where your head and heart are at."

She closes her eyes. "Work helps Quinn. But when I'm not working … I just feel so sad. So fucking sad all the time …."

"Jesus Carrie, give yourself time … it's only been just over three months …"

"What if it never gets better?"

"It will," he tells her quietly. "I can't promise you'll ever get over the sadness … but it will get better."

A tear rolls down her cheek slowly, then another.

"Don't cry on the phone with me, Carrie. It would be bad if you got electrocuted because of tears and mucous." 

Carrie chokes back a laugh. "You're such an asshole sometimes, Quinn."

"Have you tried talking to the shrink at Langley?" Quinn's voice is serious.

"Fucking moron. Couldn't counsel his way out of a paper bag. That's an hour of my life I'm never getting back." There's a long silence. "Besides … I'm not good at that kind of shit. Talking about things… to people."

_Except you._

"I'm always here, Carrie. You know that."

"No you're not, you're sitting in one of the most violent places in South America with the sixth greatest homicide rate of any large city in the world."

"Cut the bullshit. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I do."

"I'd better go. Hordes of hot women to seduce as part of the mission," he teases.

"Quinn…" she says, ignoring his teasing.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, ok?"

"Always."

After Quinn hangs up, he puts the phone away and stares out the window at the city for a long moment. He's never had anyone worry about his safety on a mission before. It's a strange and unfamiliar feeling. For the first time he allows himself to contemplate possibilities that he has not previously permitted himself to entertain.


	13. Fragment: Faustian Bargains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This latest fragment is set during episode 3.12 "The Star". 
> 
> I had a few questions in my mind.  
> 1\. Why was Quinn just hanging around in that car park like a dope. It seemed pre-arranged  
> 2\. Why did he just walk off on her and leave her behind if they had arranged to meet  
> 3\. Where was Quinn going?  
> 4\. Who was on the phone with Quinn?  
> 5\. Why on EARTH would Lockhart appoint Carrie to be Station Chief of Istanbul given her extremely predictable pattern of insubordination and jeopardising the mission. See [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9JwaptBzeo) if you don't believe me.  
> 6\. Turkey is _dangerous_ for Americans. Why would they send a woman and her newborn baby there?  
>  7\. Why did Quinn look a bit different?

The ringing of a cell phone wakes up Carrie from yet another nightmare. These days the nightmares come with less frequency but when they come, they are terrifying or heartbreaking. Waking up sobbing is not the best way to start the day …

It's her ordinary cell phone ringing and she sees Quinn's name on the display. If he's chosen to call her on this phone, clearly the conversation is going to be an innocuous one.

"Hey Quinn," she mumbles sleepily.

"Sorry for waking you," he tells her.

"You just get back in the country?"

"Still at the airport now."

"Want me to pick you up?" she offers drowsily.

"That's not why I called," he replies in a voice laced with amusement.

It's been more than a week since they last spoke but she's very much been on his mind – more than usual. In particular, he has been wondering what she wanted to tell him so badly she contacted him while he was in the field.

"Were you successful?" she asks him obliquely.

"I did what I was supposed to do," he replies. "Can't complain. I'm in debriefs all morning but do you want to meet for lunch? Crappy staff cafeteria food – my treat."

"As delightful as that sounds - I have an appointment with Lockhart at 12.30."

"And I've got an appointment at 1 … how about this – I'll wait for you in the car park at 12.30 in case you come out early from your meeting. In any case, I'll drop by your place tonight after work?"

"Sounds like a plan," she agrees. 

"Have you seen the paper yet?"

"No …"

"You should." There's a pause. "Saul did it. Pity he pissed off like he did – but he did it…"

After she hangs up, she lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling. The human life doing karate kicks in her abdomen is a constant reminder of her failure to save Brody. Lockhart's offer has been swirling around in her head all week.

Is accepting the offer from Lockhart doing a deal with the devil or is the point already moot … her soul was sold when she came back to work for the people who handed Brody over to Javadi, thereby ensuring his death?

She closes her eyes, struggling for answers. Unsettlingly, instead of one of Saul's aphorisms or pep talks, she hears the voice of another man in her head.

_"I think you of all people will understand that no one's just one thing."_

As she wonders every morning … should she resign and walk away. Start a new life elsewhere and tell the likes of Lockhart and Dar Adal exactly what she thinks of them.

_"What will you do Carrie? Burn it all down? Everything you worked for? And I don't mean what the CIA has worked for, I mean you. The plan is a success. You and Brody pulled it off."_

Carrie opens her eyes again, allowing the tears to slide down her cheeks as she lies in the bed staring at the ceiling. She already knows the choice she has made and why … She wonders if staying with the CIA will always feel like a betrayal. The superstitious part of her wishes that the Universe would give her a sign that she is making the right decision instead of stepping into another god-awful fuck up.

She walks downstairs to grab the newspaper from her doorstep and stares at the headline on the front page. Since her return, she has been working towards this goal but to see it confirmed in black and white is something quite extraordinary.

She grabs for her phone and sends the text. 

_Holy shit._

Quinn replies almost immediately. _I hear they're calling him the Maestro._

Carrie sits down on the front step in her pyjamas with her bare feet sticking out in front of her. A laugh escapes her, the sound rusty from disuse. Suddenly the world is a wonderful place.

*

"Carrie," Lockhart says to her courteously as she enters his office.

"Mr Director."

"Please, have a seat. You look well."

"If large," she says with a grimace, sitting down with difficulty.

"I assume we'll lose you to maternity leave soon."

"I'll probably need a few hours off," she says with an attempt at a joke.

"That is some news coming out of Geneva," he tells her.

"It's amazing," she breathes, elation in her eyes and wonderment in her voice.

"Saul was right, Javadi's proven immensely successful at influencing Iranian policy in the highest levels," Lockhart concedes.

"One thing about Saul – he's usually right," Carrie says with a wry smile.

"I couldn't keep him on, Carrie. I hope you understand why," Lockhart remarks as he inclines her head towards her.

With an effort, Carrie keeps the smile on her face. "Maybe we can agree to disagree on that."

"That's funny," Lockhart comments.

"What?" she questions.

"Agree to disagree. That's exactly how he would have put it." Carrie notes that there is no hostility in Lockhart's voice when he mentions Saul. Presumably it's because he has won – he has emerged from the power struggle victorious and Saul has been exiled from the organisation to which he has sacrificed his life and much of his marriage.

"Back to Javadi though," Lockhart's voice recalls her from her thoughts. "Have you done any thinking about what we discussed last week?" 

"I have and you're right, my being in Istanbul would make running Javadi easier," Carrie tells him calmly.

"It's arguably the premiere posting in the region. And you'd be station chief – the youngest in the history of the agency," he adds, his voice persuasive.

"Can I handpick my people?" she asks.

"Up to a point. I'd like you to keep Tony Shadid on as deputy in order to smooth the transition," he explains.

"I can live with that."

"Then you're in." There is a note of satisfaction in his voice.

"I'm in," Carrie agrees, part of her still unable to believe that this is actually happening.

"Excellent," he tells her as Carrie rises from her seat. "Excellent. Well we'll discuss a timeline over the next few weeks. Congratulations." He sounds very sincere.

"Thank you". Carrie starts to leave but then pauses in the doorway of his office. "Uh, sir?"

"Yes?"

"About the commemorative ceremony on Friday."

"What about it?" There is a questioning look on his face.

"I think Nicholas Brody deserves a star," she tells him firmly. Lockhart takes a deep breath as if to speak but Carrie continues. "He fulfils the criteria, sir."

"Putting aside your personal connection to him -" he interjects, mild sarcasm in his voice and disapproval in his eyes.

"He was an agency asset who died while serving his country - " Carrie argues.

"I'll stop you there," he tries to interrupt her.

"Heroically in my opinion," she continues stubbornly.

"First of all, he wasn't technically an employee of the CIA."

"Well technically … come on…" Carrie stares at him and gives an incredulous laugh.

"Second of all, his actions previous to the Tehran mission cast a long shadow." Lockhart's voice is very stern.

"Sir - he was a US marine who was captured and tortured for eight years. Who are we to stand in judgment?" Carrie demands, keeping her voice as calm.

"No one's judging him – I'm just not memorialising him on the walls of this building. That's where I draw the line." Lockhart's tone is implacable.

Carrie is silent and stares back at him, her eyes shining with tears but she does not let them fall. "Is this going to be an ongoing problem between us?" he asks her bluntly.

She shakes her head. "No sir." She controls herself very carefully and leaves his room, walking downstairs, remaining calm and collected.

Walking out the front entrance, she sees Quinn waiting for her as promised. He's puffing on a cigarette and talking to someone on the phone.

Despite her chaotic thoughts, she wonders if he's even gone home – his shirt is crumpled, his hair tousled and slightly lighter than she remembers. Typical Quinn, just back from Caracas and already back on the job.

*

"Any signs of Carrie relenting?" Saul asks as Quinn scans the parking lot while talking on the phone.

"You'll have to ask her that yourself on Friday at the ceremony," Quinn tells him. "You're still coming right?"

"Yes, of course." Saul pauses. "Any thoughts on my offer, Peter? I could really use someone like you on my team."

"We'll have to see, I don't know," he replies. When he sees Carrie approach, he says quickly," I gotta go," and hangs up.

She's dressed in one of the dark pants suits that appear to be Carrie Mathison's armour against the world, only the swell of her belly indicating any sign of softness of weakness. She looks good though – healthy and full of energy although she is frowning heavily as she strides towards him.

"Can I have one of those?" she asks, indicating the cigarette.

"No," he says flatly.

"Oh just give me one. I won't light it," she snaps. With a disapproving look, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his packet of cigarettes and gives it to her as he leans against the bumper of his car.

"Something ailing you?" he asks her mildly even though it's clear that her perturbed state of mind must be from her meeting with the Director.

"Lockhart," she bites out, pretending to suck on her unlit cigarette.

"What did he do, besides fuck over Saul?" Quinn asks her curiously.

"He just gave me Istanbul. Station chief."

That's a surprise and definitely not something that Quinn could have anticipated. "Holy crap," he replies, astonishment and respect on his face.

"I know!" she exclaims, with an air of frustration in her voice.

"That's bad?" Quinn questions quizzically.

"No, _this_ is bad," she says, gesturing dramatically at her swollen belly.

"Well it's a little late for second thoughts," Quinn remarks dryly.

"Yeah, no shit," she retorts.

"So what's bad about it?"

"I just didn't think it through… I wanted it because of Brody… to have a part of him," Carrie bites out, trying to articulate her thoughts and not being particularly articulate about it.

"I think they call that love," Quinn points out gently.

"It's like getting this far to the fucking endgame to realise …. it's impossible." There is almost a sob in Carrie's voice.

"Why?"

"Quinn, I can't be a mother." Her face is contorted and miserable.

"Because?"

"Because of me, because of my job … because of –" She gives him a sharp look as if to say _You of all people should know_. "My problems."

"Everyone has problems."

She flicks him a look of scorn. "I'll be a great station chief. I'll be fearless, obsessed, ruthless if I have to be … all of the same reasons I can't …."

Quinn's eyes drop deliberately to the swell of Carrie's abdomen and then he looks away. "That kid is a gift." His voice is husky with uncharacteristic emotion.

Carrie's face softens. "You have one, right?"

"I fucked it up," Quinn tells her, a slight catch to his voice. "And it would be really sad to see you do the same thing." 

He reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder reassuringly for a moment before walking off and back into the building for his own meeting.

Carrie watches him leave, a look of confusion and doubt on her face.

*

Quinn takes a seat in the meeting room. When the door opens, he stiffens. He had been directed to attend a meeting with the Division Chief, instead ..

"Mr. Director," he says, rising to his feet, surprise in his eyes.

"Please sit down, Peter. I hope you don't mind me commandeering your appointment like this, but I had a matter of some importance to discuss with you."

"Of course not," Quinn says politely, sitting back down again, his face calm and expressionless again. 

Lockhart looks poised and unruffled. He is in his element and appears to be enjoying his new role as Director of the Agency. Quinn trusts him about as far as he can throw him.

"Congratulations on your _excellent_ work in Caracas – I hear that we have you to thank for the increased quality of our intelligence on the cartels."

"Thank you, sir," Quinn murmurs. Once a politician, always a politician. Even with only two of them in the room, Lockhart's delivery resembles a speech to the masses, polished and charming.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," Lockhart says with an almost conspiratorial smile.

"Not at all, I'm sure you'll tell me when you're ready, sir," Quinn replies and Lockhart's smile deepens.

"You have an impressive record with the Agency, Peter. Impeccable in fact … versatile, reliable – ruthless when necessary."

Quinn waits patiently for Lockhart to get to the point and finish his empty and meaningless flattery.

"This is of course highly classified information – but I have offered Carrie Mathison the position of Station Chief in Istanbul and she has accepted."

Quinn nods. "A signal honour indeed, sir," he remarks.

"Quite. It's a plum posting."

"And a very dangerous place to be sending a woman and her newborn baby," Quinn comments coolly.

"Peter – you wrong me. If I wanted to have the somewhat troublesome Carrie Mathison … eliminated … there are far easier ways to go about it. She is a useful employee and will be perfectly safe in Istanbul in the embassy compound."

Quinn raises his eyebrows to betray his scepticism. There have been violent attacks throughout Turkey and there is a continuing threat of terrorist actions and violence against U.S. citizens and interests throughout Turkey. Safe isn't a word he associates with Turkey. 

"You are aware sir, of the suicide bombing at the U.S. Embassy in Ankara in February carried out by the Revolutionary People’s Liberation Party - an indigenous terrorist organization?"

"Yes of course."

"And in July 2011, 15 terrorists claiming association with al-Qaida were arrested for gathering explosive materials in preparation for an attack on the U.S. Embassy in Ankara. These incidents show a willingness on the part of some terrorist groups to attack identifiably Western targets – namely U.S. targets. The possibility of terrorist attacks, from both transnational and indigenous groups, remains high."

"I'm aware of this, Peter," Lockhart says with a smile. "Nonetheless, my hands are to a certain extent – tied. With Saul gone, Carrie is the only person with whom Javadi will cooperate. He has made this clear. She is also the person most familiar with the way Javadi works."

Quinn is silent. While he believes what Lockhart is telling him, he can't help thinking that Javadi's wish to deal with Carrie stems from a desire to completely fuck her over … play with her mind, rip her apart psychologically and inflict the revenge on her that he cannot inflict on Saul Berenson, Javadi's nemesis and Carrie's mentor.

" I'm a little surprised that we're letting Javadi call the shots," he remarks.

"He is an extremely valuable asset, Peter. Volatile and dangerous – but he has shown that he is prepared to cooperate if it also serves his ends. I have no idea how long we can keep him in play in Iran … but he can still be of use to us and we need to take advantage of that while we can."

Quinn is silent, leaning back in his chair and listening, his face giving nothing away.

"Carrie will be picking her team to go with her to Istanbul. I think that she will almost certainly ask you to be a member of that team. If she asks you – I want you to accept."

Quinn says nothing and waits for Lockhart to continue. The older man clearly finds the silence disconcerting and he clears his throat. "Carrie is brilliant … dedicated to her job … but as you and I know, she can be impulsive and unreliable."

"I don't think there's a man alive who can control Carrie Mathison, sir," Quinn says with a flicker of humour in his voice.

"I'm extremely cognizant of that fact Peter. I know what her track record is like .. I know how impetuous and downrightly dangerously headstrong she can be … I'm not expecting you to control her – just take her out of the equation if she reaches a point where she may be more of a liability than an asset."

"Sir?" Quinn asks, his face still expressionless even as his throat is tightening as the realisation is slowly dawning upon him of what Lockhart wants. Nausea is rising in his throat but he maintains his look of relaxed calm.

"You have certain … skills that are invaluable. You're also not squeamish – I know that from the night you shot her in the shoulder when she almost jeopardised the operation. That is the kind of ruthlessness and adherence to duty that I am expecting of you … "

Quinn clears his throat. "And what of Executive Order 12333, sir?" he asks coolly, alluding to the prohibition on assassination.

Lockhart snorts with contempt. "Don't be disingenuous, Peter, it doesn't suit you. As part of Dar Adal's team, you have been flouting Executive Order 12333 for a significant part of your professional life."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, sir," Quinn says mildly and Lockhart shakes his head in reproof.

"It's good that you're so circumspect, Peter … but unlike everyone else. I have access to your file. I know the names and dates of all of your kills … even the little 9 year old boy in Caracas." 

A muscle moves in Quinn's jaw but he says nothing. "Such a tragic mistake," Lockhart says with deep sympathy in his voice that in any other person would be genuine.

"I will be quite explicit, Peter. Carrie's role as Station Chief will be to act as the handler to Majid Javadi, our most valued asset in Iran. Should she at any point, however, show signs of jeopardising our objectives and allowing her own personal biases to endanger Agency interests – you will terminate her using whatever means necessary. I expect you to do your job and make the problem go away – quickly and without calling attention to your actions."

"That is certainly explicit, sir," Quinn concedes, his voice slightly husky. He can feel and hear his pulse thumping loudly in his temples and it is with great effort that he forces his body back into a state of calmness.

"Do we understand each other?" Lockhart asks him.

"I think so."

"And do you accept, Peter?" Lockhart asks him.

"I am sensing that I don’t really have a say in the matter," Quinn says pleasantly.

Lockhart shakes his head. "Of course you have a say, Peter," Lockhart tells him earnestly. "If you think it's not something you would feel comfortable doing – I will appoint another in your place. Someone who will undoubtedly lack your skills and finesse but who is also able to complete the task if necessary."

Quinn gives a smile that does not reach his eyes. "I'm honoured to be considered, sir."

"I have every confidence in you, Peter. I’m delighted that you've agreed."

"I’m the man for the job," Quinn agrees, rising to his feet as Lockhart stands.

He watches as Lockhart leaves the room and his face twists slightly in momentary disgust before he regains control of himself.


	14. Fragment: Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also set during episode 3.12 "The Star". Carrie asks Quinn to join her team. It also revisits Quinn's previously stated desire to leave the CIA. It also strays a little further into the realms of shippiness but doesn't dive in too deeply.

Carrie has barely recovered from the shock of seeing the ripple across her bare stomach when the front door opens and Maggie and her father walk into her house unannounced.

"I forgot you were coming," Carrie mumbles, trying to compose herself and failing miserably.

"We got all of Maggie's old stuff including the world's heaviest crib," Frank announces exultantly.

"Gosh, there's a lot of things," Carrie comments, looking dismayed rather than thrilled.

"Yeah it seems it but you end up needing all of it, so…." Maggie says trailing off.

"What's this?" Carrie demands, a little bit of revulsion in her voice as she stares at the object that looks like a harness combined with a torture device.

"It's a bjorn. It's easy."

"It is?"

"Yeah she sleeps right here, against your chest. It's like a reverse backpack," Maggie explains with a satisfied tone in her voice.

Carrie makes a sound of feeble acknowledgment.

"You'll get the hang of it," Maggie assures her.

"Do you have a rocking chair?" Frank asks her. "I was thinking I would make a rocking chair."

" _Make_ it?" Carrie looks even more aghast.

"I need a new project, I'm antsy you know? Waiting for this girl!" Carrie starts to look nauseated.

"So how was the ultrasound?" Maggie asks, still determinedly cheerful in the face of Carrie's horror.

"Ah it's good. Yeah. She said the baby's perfect," Carrie says slowly and with an effort, feeling very trapped and suffocated.

"That should be a good thing, right?" Maggie asks her.

Carrie looks around the room helplessly. She sits down. "Um .. Maggie I'm not gonna need your stuff."

"Why?"

"I'm moving … to Istanbul …," she blurts out.

"You're moving to Istanbul? When?" Maggie asks in shock.

"Soon. Right after she's born."

"Will she come with you in the bjorn?" Maggie asks with a smile designed to mask her anxiety.

Carrie shakes her head desperately. "I can't keep her. That's what I'm saying."

Frank starts shaking his head as Maggie crosses her arms. "Don't you say that," Frank tells her.

"It's sick I know but I can't …" Carrie cries out.

"Yes you can."

"Come on, you guys know better than anyone how bad it gets with me," Carrie tells them fiercely.

"Carrie I've been thinking about this." Maggie comes and sits beside her on the sofa. "A lot. I think she's going to ground you. Make you focus. Be healthy. And I think you will be astonished by the love you have for her."

Carrie looks at Maggie. "There's no sign of that."

"There will be…" Maggie tries to reassure her.

"No really – I don't feel love. All I feel - is scared," Carrie says bluntly, tears in her eyes.

"Two tours of Baghdad and now a baby is bringing you to your knees?" Frank demands.

"Yeah," Carrie retorts.

"Look, can we just take this day by day?" Maggie asks her.

"You are not leaving this kid," Frank exclaims. "Not like your mother did to you."

"Dad!" Carrie exclaims in horror.

Frank holds up his hand. "You don't want her. I'll take her."

"You would do that?" Carrie demands, relief and disbelief on her face.

He nods. "It's your life."

"OK everybody, slow down. Can we just see how you feel after the baby's born – " Maggie exclaims, trying in vain to calm the family down.

"Scared -" Carrie exclaims sobbingly. "- is how I feel." Her breathing is ragged, her face contorted with frustration and panic.

"I know," Maggie says softly.

"And sad … " Carrie's face contorts. "I'm so fucking sad," she says with a whisper that breaks in the middle. Maggie holds her, aware that this grief is far beyond her ability to comfort despite all of her bracing words and attempts at reassurance.

The door opens and Quinn walks in taking in the room in an instant - the baby furniture, the discarded bjorn, a tearful swollen-faced Carrie sitting on the sofa being held by a very worried-looking Maggie beside her and an equally anxious Frank pacing nervously before them.

"Hi," he says warily and Maggie spares a quick smile for him as she releases Carrie and rises to her feet.

"Peter - welcome back. The girls have been asking after you."

"Out of town," he says with an apologetic smile and Maggie knows better than to ask where he's been.

"Carrie's latest ultrasound shows that her baby girl is in perfect health," Maggie announces with a forced brightness.

"That's great news," Quinn agrees, putting down the bag of takeout on the coffee table as Frank sniffs.

"Geez Peter - you know one day you're going to get sick of Indian food?"

"Never gonna happen," Quinn states emphatically and that makes Carrie smile despite her misery.

"Did you get enough for me, too?" she asks, showing mild interest in the contents of the bag as she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What do you take me for?" he demands. "Although I didn't bring enough for everyone here sorry," he says regretfully. 

Maggie smiles. "That's all right - we were just leaving anyway." 

Carrie rises to carry the takeout bag into the kitchen as Quinn walks with Maggie and Frank to the door. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Maggie gestures for Quinn to follow them.

"I suppose you're wondering what that was all about," Maggie says in an undertone.

"Not really, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea," Quinn murmurs expressionlessly.

"He's always so smug," Frank mutters.

"But he's so pretty," Maggie says with a teasing smile.

"Guys - I'm right here," Quinn points out sardonically.

"Keep an eye on her - she's feeling very emotional tonight ..." Maggie tells him.

"Even talking about giving the baby up for adoption," Frank says anxiously and there is a flicker in Quinn's light blue eyes.

When he returns to the house, Carrie has laid out food on the coffee table in front of the sofa with plates, cutlery and glasses of water.

She has wiped her eyes but her face is still swollen. Carrie Mathison can do a lot of things but she certainly hasn't mastered the art of crying pretty. It occurs to Quinn that he must be even further gone than he thought given that he finds the red nose and puffy eyes strangely endearing. 

He reaches for a lamb samosa and dips it into the yoghurt sauce and chews slowly.

"You're not going to ask me what that was all about?" Carrie asks, her tone a little defensive.

"Nope," Quinn says mildly. "I'm eating, and so should you if you don't want me to eat your share, too."

A reluctant smile flickers across Carrie's face and she loads up her plate and starts to eat.

Quinn asks no questions, choosing instead to entertain her with far-fetched but strangely true stories from Caracas.

"I don't believe you rescued that litter of kittens," she accuses, scepticism on her face.

"Photographic evidence is in my cell phone - currently with the tech team or I'd show you!" he assures her. "It earned me a basket of fruit as well as a whole load of fucking good karma," he informs her with reminiscent satisfaction in his voice. 

He doesn't let the conversation go back to her during dinner, keeping it focussed on the Comical Adventures of Peter Quinn in Caracas - a heavily censored account of his activities in Venezuela.

As they wash up in the kitchen, Carrie blurts out suddenly,"Had a total meltdown ... freak out .. panic attack when Maggie and dad were here."

"I kind of guessed that."

"They're standing there with all that baby equipment and that fucking bjork thing."

"Bjorn."

"Whatever the fuck it is ... completely did my head in."

Quinn nods.

"You're not going to give me the whole this baby is precious, it's a gift and it's going to ground me crap again?" she demands and he shakes his head.

"Nope. You don't need to be told more than once. You're smart. You'll figure it out. It takes time not repetition for good sense to sink into that skull of yours."

"You know you really piss me off sometimes?"

"You're just envious because I'm sensible."

"You're annoying is what you are," she tells him but her harsh words are softened by her rare smile.

They go back into the lounge room and she sinks down on the sofa and Quinn stuffs a pillow behind her back absently before she can start groaning about her back aching.

"You're taking up Lockhart on his offer?"

"I'd be crazy not to, don't you think?"

"It's an amazing opportunity," Quinn agrees.

"But?" she questions.

"Lockhart."

Carrie gives a short, bitter laugh. "Lockhart is a duplicitous asshole and I don't trust him at all ... " Her mouth twists. "You know I told him I thought Brody should get a star."

"And?"

"The answer was no of course. He's not judging but he's not going to memorialise him ..." Her voice breaks slightly and she presses her lips together firmly to stop them quivering. 

She glares when Quinn hands her a tissue. "Before you start getting all liquid again," he tells her. "You know Brody wouldn't have given two fucks about a star on the wall," Quinn tells her coolly. "It's just another one of those empty, meaningless symbols."

Carrie frowns and stares at him in wonderment. "You can't mean that, Quinn - you don't care at all? You wouldn't want a star?"

"Fuck no," Quinn exclaims. "It's just more bullshit they do to make themselves better about the shit they do... A true memorial is leaving behind a legacy of having done the right thing ... of being remembered by people who matter." He frowns. "You mean to tell me that a star matters that much to you?"

She shrugs. "It does ... it's a symbol ... but it's recognition that a person was a part of this place .. of something bigger ... that we mattered."

Quinn frowns. "You don't need a star on the wall to matter."

"It matters to me."

"And that's why you'd consider taking up Lockhart on his offer when you don't trust him and Turkey isn't exactly safe."

"Why Quinn? This is flattering - it's like you care," Carrie drawls sarcastically.

"Don't fuck with me, Carrie," he tells her roughly. "You know I care about you."

She nods. "Lockhart says I can pick my team - you'll come with me, won't you? I know you said you wanted out eventually but ... I can't imagine being over there without you having my back."

"Carrie ..."

"You've had my back since we met," she points out. "[You told me - whatever I need....](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1089131)"

Quinn looks amused. "Perpetual assistance?"

"You didn't specify an end date!" she points out exultantly as if she's won and Quinn laughs but he has an inner debate raging inside of him. The right thing to do is to tell Carrie about Lockhart's intentions but he just can't quite bring himself to wipe this look of happy expectation and anticipation off her face. He doesn't want to be the one to destroy her illusions however misplaced they are.

"Out with it," Carrie tells him.

"What?"

She pokes him hard in the shoulder. "That look on your face."

"I have no look. My face is expressionless," he tells her.

"Yes years of training to make you inscrutable – but I know what it means. You want to tell me something."

"Oh but where to begin," he mutters beneath his breath and Carrie shoots him an odd look. "Look, I'm just going to come out and say it. Lockhart also told me about your posting. He wants me to go too - and expects me to take you out if you step out of line."

There. He's said it. He waits for the realisation to sink in. For Carrie's face to crumple in devastation. He braces himself for the outpouring of emotion.

"And?" Carrie asks expectantly.

"What do you mean _and_?" Quinn demands, his voice rising in volume. "Carrie I've just told you that Lockhart's giving me standing instructions to take you out if you jeopardise the mission."

"And this surprises you, why?" Carrie asks him, raising her eyebrows in perplexity. 

Quinn stares at her in shock. 

"Think about it, Quinn. It's no secret that I do my own thing when it suits me ... someone like Lockhart's not going to send me to Istanbul without an insurance policy in place."

"What the fuck?" Quinn demands, staring at her. "And what's your insurance policy?"

"You - I hope," she says with a twisted smile.

"Carrie ..."

"Hear me out, Quinn. I'm just kidding - I don't expect you to have my back forever ... I'm not _that_ unreasonable ... I know you've been talking about getting out, that you're sick of all the fucked up shit the agency does."

"Aren't you? You can see what goes on the same way I can," Quinn points out.

"Absolutely ... but I see what the other people who don't give a fuck do ... or worse, the people who have their own agenda. Saul left - who's in charge? Lockhart. You or I leave? We have a dozen people who don't give a damn to take our place ..."

"Your sense of right and wrong is … admirable but the system is stacked against you."

"Bull shit. Take the coward's way out ..." she tells him bitingly. "Opt out like Saul instead of staying and fighting. You lose the right to complain if you leave things in the hands of the bastards. It's exactly the same as if you don't vote - you don't get to complain if the government fucks things up."

"You _vote?_ " Quinn demands, momentarily distracted.

"Of course I vote - you mean you don't?" Carrie demands, also distracted. "Geez Quinn. Way to go with abrogating your civic duty." She frowns and regathers her thoughts. "You saw the headlines today ... it _is_ possible for us to make a difference."

"You're trying to convince me to stay for the sake of world peace?" he asks her sardonically.

"The chance at peace ..." she says seriously, no laughter in her face. "The chance to have a civilised dialogue where we talk instead of just killing each other ... maybe we can't achieve world peace but maybe we can avert a few terrorist attacks here and stop the killing over there ..."

"You sound a bit like Saul there."

"More than a bit. He taught me well - but unlike him, I'm sticking around and I'm going to keep fighting for what I believe in."

"You don't think you might just be obsessive and wedded to your job?" he asks her bluntly and she shakes her head.

"No. Ok maybe a little bit ... I don't give up."

"That you don't," Quinn concedes and despite her rumpled sweats, tangled hair and red nose and eyes ... there's something incredibly heroic and vulnerable about the woman sitting in front of him. Other people spouted this sort of patriotic, moralistic bullshit but he knows that Carrie means it ... from her head, her gut, her heart - from every part of her soul. Perhaps it was unquenchable spirit of hers that had won over his respect almost from the start.

"So what if you act up and I have to kill you," he asks her coolly.

She slants at him and nudges him with her shoulder. "You won't do that."

"So sure of yourself ... I shot you once remember?"

"And you felt like complete shit about it later."

He looks sheepish. "You can't kill me, Quinn." She stares at him. "I'd come back to haunt you so badly."

"I don't doubt it," he tells her. He's just playing with her, interested in hearing her reason with him and try to persuade him. Of course he's going to go to Istanbul with her. Of course he's going to watch her back - and she knows it.

"It's not enough that you're going over to keep an eye out for me Quinn ... you have to know why you're staying ... believe in the reasons..."

It is with great self-restraint that he stops his gaze from flicking from her face down to her swollen abdomen. 

"I'm happy with my reasons Carrie and I accept your gracious invitation to be a member of your team," he tells her formally. He leans back on the sofa and stares at her. "So what's your official title going to be at the embassy?" he asks her.

"Something that won't result in me being outed the way the Pakistani Station Chiefs keep getting outed," she says with feeling.

"Cultural attaché? Political officer."

"What about you? Shall we make you Passports Officer?"

"Foreign Service Officer," he suggests. "Babysitter?" he jokes and her eyes widen.

"You _really_ think it's possible for me to bring the baby over there?" she asks, her voice wondering as she starts to really consider the possibilities.

Quinn is silent for a moment. When he speaks his voice is serious. "There are no guarantees but I swear I'll do whatever it takes to keep you and the baby safe..."

Carrie believes him. She doesn't need a man to protect her but finds herself irrationally reassured by his statement. There are indeed no guarantees but this is a promise and Quinn's always been a man of his word.


	15. Fragment: Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final fragment ... I try to answer a few more questions that I had:
> 
> 1\. Was that a pre-meditated Sharpie?  
> 2\. What about the rest of the team?  
> 3\. How does Dar Adal feel about Quinn breaking away from him?

"Peter - I hear Carrie's asked you to join her band of merry men in Istanbul." 

Sitting in Dar Adal's office, Quinn nods. "Word travels fast."

"I keep tabs on my own," the older man tells him. 

Quinn doesn't bother pointing out to Dar Adal that he doesn't count as one of his 'own' anymore. 

Dar Adal smiles and his smile is slightly melancholy, deepening the lines on his face. "I taught you that technique, quite early on in your career, Peter. The gift of silence. A man's words can be his undoing and a long silence can cause some men to babble in order to fill the void."

"Like that," Quinn murmurs and Dar Adal's smile broadens.

"I am sorry to lose you Peter - but I know that your heart hasn't been in the job for some time. Since your mysterious assignment for Estes in fact." _Since you met Carrie Mathison_. He leaves the words are unsaid - there is no need to vocalise them.

"Killing people on command? How does one keep one's heart in that sort of work?" Quinn asks him matter-of-factly.

"Killing enemies of our country, Peter. Eliminating threats to our country," Dar Adal reminds him gently.

"Sanctioned hits. Targeted killings. Assassinations based on the prevailing political policy at the time. Today an enemy state, tomorrow a valuable ally - and yet the target's already dead," Quinn points out.

"Peter, Peter ... you sound like a naïve idealist. And I thought that we had left that young boy behind a very long time ago."

Quinn says nothing. Dar Adal's references to the past are designed to unsettle him and he is not interested in being the mouse to Adal's cat.

"Lockhart would have you keep an eye on Carrie in Turkey." Adal gives a soft chuckle. "He believes that he has a trusted Agency assassin at his disposal to monitor the volatile Carrie Mathison. How very little the man knows." When Quinn still says nothing, his blue eyes looking cool and watchful, Adal continues. "The irony is rather delicious actually. Lockhart doesn't know of your irrational and inexplicable soft spot for Carrie or he wouldn't be putting you into play like that."

A muscle moves in Quinn's jaw. He's aware that if Lockhart knows where Quinn's true allegiances lie, he will almost certainly find someone else. Someone who will follow Lockhart's orders without question - and Carrie will be in danger.

Dar Adal's smile of faint triumph broadens. He's starting to enjoy this conversation greatly.

"You see yourself as her knight errant and protector, Peter? A champion to the lady? Carrie Mathison is hardly a damsel in distress." He becomes serious for a moment. "I suppose you have always held me responsible for Julia. She blamed you for not being there so you've always blamed me."

Complications in Julia's pregnancy had led to a premature delivery. Adal had kept this news from Quinn who had been offshore on a critical assignment. By the time Quinn had returned, Julia had gone through the ordeal alone and the damage was done. 

"You've got it wrong," Quinn says unexpectedly. "I don't blame you for anything - you did what you felt was right. You behaved in a manner consistent with your beliefs. I'm responsible for what I do, the choices I have made and the people that I've hurt."

"People like you and I weren't made to play happy families, Peter."

"With all due respect, sir - I'm not like you."

Dar Adal smiles, shakes his head as though reproving a young child. "You try so hard to run from who you really are."

"Perhaps it's that you never really knew me," Quinn says grimly.

Dar Adal appears very contemplative for a moment. "I have always regarded you as a son, Peter and been proud of your abilities."

"It's a strange father to be proud that his son is a killer," Quinn remarks, eyebrows raised.

"Proud of your courage, your skill, your intelligence. Most of all, I was proud of your ability to always get the job done."

If Dar Adal was in any way, shape or form his father, then it was no wonder that he had turned out so fucked up, Quinn thinks grimly although he keeps his face calm and relaxed.

Adal gives a bittersweet smile and sighs in a manner in keeping with his frequently theatrical nature. "Have no fear, Peter. Lockhart won't be hearing anything from me. He's a worthless, unprincipled prick and I for one have no love for him. He's a political animal here to pad his resume on the way to his eventual campaign for presidency … He'll be gone tomorrow, caring only about leaving a media-worthy short-term legacy. The man has no vision for the Agency or any understanding of our true purpose. In any case, you can call me sentimental but I still have a fondness for you despite your stubborn recalcitrance."

"That's kind of you, sir," Quinn says insincerely.

"Fuck you, Peter," Dar Adal says coolly. As Quinn rises to go, Adal remarks. "When you kill for the Agency under orders, uncoloured by personal interest or judgment - you are a soldier in a war serving political and national interests. If you kill based on your own moral code and convictions - that makes you nothing more than a vigilante ... or a murderer."

"Tell yourself what you need to in order to sleep at night, sir - but there's really little difference. You've still killed a human and there is no redemption possible for that."

Dar Adal rises from his desk and walks to the door and puts out his hand. "I wish you well Peter, I really do. And I hope Carrie is worthy of your trust and loyalty." The sincerity in his voice surprises both of them.

"Thank you sir.

Dar Adal watches him leave with an expression that in another man might be sorrow. To take a young man from nothing, to mould him into something formidable and deadly is a remarkable accomplishment. He is genuinely sorry to see man now known as Peter Quinn leave.

*

Quinn sits next to Carrie at the ceremony. Lockhart sounds almost deceptively sincere. His words are heartfelt and carefully chosen. It's no wonder that he has been so successful in his political career. He glances at Carrie and sees that she is biting her lower lip hard and staring fixedly at the stars engraved on the wall to their left.

He gives her a gentle nudge with his leg, to snap her out of her daze and she looks confused and reaches out her hand blindly. He gives it a reassuring squeeze and keeps a firm grip on her hand as Lockhart reads out a list of names. The two of them stare ahead and no one looking at them would know that her hand is twitching convulsively in his as though she wants to punch someone.

"No matter when or where they served, no matter if their names are known to the world or only to us, each cherished colleague remains a constant source of inspiration and courage. They all heard the same call to duty and they all answered it without hesitation. They are our heroes. They are America's heroes and that is how we'll remember them. I ask for a moment of silence."

They lower their heads. Carrie's face is thoughtful and distant, calm again and Quinn releases her hand. 

"Thank you, that concludes the ceremony. The reception will be held on the upstairs lawn."

"I'm going to stay here a while," Carrie tells Quinn who nods. _Don't cause any trouble_ his gaze tells her and he leaves her.

She glances up as Saul goes comes to sit beside her. "Hey."

"Hey." She knew that he would be here and despite everything that's happened, she's happy to see him again.

_"It's over… Not even the almighty Saul can stop it now."_

"He gives a nice speech," Saul remarks, his voice gentle.

"He's a politician," Carrie says, rolling her eyes.

"How are you?" Saul asks her, his dark eyes not moving from her face.

"OK."

"Heard about Istanbul."

Carrie looks startled. "Word gets around." She knows she should be asking him how he knows about it and even reporting him - Saul no longer has the security clearance to have the right to know the identity of a station chief... but … this is Saul.

"It's wonderful. It's what you always wanted. You deserve it," the approval and pride in his voice is sincere.

She stares at his visitor's tag. "This is wrong. That's plain wrong," she says fervently.

"How many times have you heard me say it? When it's over, it's over. Pull down the shades and go home."

"But you won, Saul – you won," Carrie protests, her voice fierce.

"Did I?" Saul asks whimsically. "Yes I did," he says with a rueful smile.

Dar Adal approaches from behind them. "Carrie there's a situation. The Director's asking for you in Ops 4, Carrie."

"Well you're needed," Saul tells her.

"Good luck in New York."

"Take care."

Both have far too many things they want to say to be able to say anything particularly meaningful. Instead, they hug.

"Bye," she tells him inadequately.

"Good bye," he tells her with an affectionate smile in his eyes, his _enfant terrible_ , his most remarkable protégé. 

Carrie walks towards Ops 4, stopping for a moment to turn her head back and stare at Saul. She gives a wry smile and then keeps walking.

*

"Peter," Saul greets him as they stand around being offered refreshments by sombre-faced wait staff. It's a very subdued and quiet gathering.

"Looking sharp, Saul," Quinn says with a smile and by tacit agreement the two of them walk to an area away from the rest of the group to talk.

"Saul - "

"You don't have to tell me," Saul says with a smile. "I can join the dots. I'm guessing that you will be declining my offer because you intend to join Carrie at her new posting in Istanbul."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "You do know I'm supposed to report you for knowing something that highly classified."

"Yes, of course," Saul replies.

"Fuck 'em," Quinn says deliberately and Saul chuckles softly.

"That's the spirit." He becomes serious.

"I am glad that you're going with her." Saul's voice drops into a low and quiet murmur. "People like Adal and Lockhart think that they can control Javadi ... that he's their asset now and that they can pull his strings like a puppet."

"He's more like a caged and dangerous fucking animal," Quinn commented and Saul nodded.

"Exactly."

"You forget, I saw exactly what he did to his ex-wife and his daughter-in-law." Quinn's voice is hoarse. 

"I haven't forgotten," Saul says in a low voice. "Two innocent women were murdered brutally and a child was left motherless because of my play ... because of my fuck-up. That's the price of arrogance, Peter – it's one of the many things I have to live with."

"There's probably a special part of hell reserved for the both of us, Saul," Quinn says with a wry smile.

"Perhaps - but we have the promise of trying to atone for our sins by doing good in the world." He looks at Quinn. "As you say, Javadi is a caged and dangerous animal. He's smart and self-serving and we have helped to elevate him ... but like that animal, as soon as he can break free of his leash or cage, he will turn on his handler and maul him – or her - to pieces. He'll try to lure Carrie out for meetings in locations that are dangerous. Any moment of weakness or vulnerability – he'll strike. You need to keep her safe."

"I'm not her bodyguard, Saul," Quinn says in a low voice.

"But you care about her."

There is a very long silence and Saul stares steadily into Quinn's light blue eyes.

"You already know the answer to that," Quinn tells him quietly.

"Then keep an eye on her."

"And you already know the answer to that, too," Quinn says with a tight smile that does not reach his eyes that have turned dark.

"You're a good man, Peter Quinn."

"Not yet, but maybe I'll get there one day." He pauses and then says. "Carrie was lucky to have a mentor like you ... the rest of us weren't so lucky."

Saul shakes his head and smiles one of his warm, affectionate smiles. "Peter - I'm already very proud of you. I look forward to seeing you and Carrie out in the world committing random acts of goodness."

That makes Quinn laugh and the two men shake hands. 

"Keep in touch," Quinn tells him.

"Absolutely. Take care."

*

Carrie sits in Ops 4 trying not to fall asleep as one of the weapons specialists starts droning on and on about chemical traces being detected on hand luggage from a flight out of Dubai. Every time there is another false alarm, Lockhart insists on convening every Tom, Dick and Harry for a completely unnecessary 'think tank' which is a waste of time.

Reaching into her bag to rummage for her packet of mints, she frowns when her hand encounters an envelope that she does not recall putting into her bag.

Being very careful not to draw attention to herself, she opens the envelope and stares in bemusement at the black Sharpie inside. The note inside is written in Quinn's bold scrawl.

_"Be the change you want to see." (Quote falsely attributed to Gandhi - since you were so outraged when I quoted him last time)_

Carrie's lips twitch and she tucks the note into the pocket of her suit jacket and stares at the black Sharpie with a very thoughtful expression on her face.

*

There's a firm rap on the door and a tousle-haired Quinn sticks his head into the doorway of Carrie's office.

The lights are out in all the offices and cubicles near hers and as he approached her office, he could see her head and shoulders illuminated by her desk lamp in the darkness. "Carrie - I'm heading off. You planning on being here much longer?"

"Ten minutes?" she guesses.

"Need a ride? Your car's still in the shop isn't it?"

"Should be fixed tomorrow thank god. I was going to take a cab."

"I can wait."

"Sure. A ride would be great." She pulls the Sharpie out of her pocket and holds it up. "You are pure evil, Peter Quinn."

"No better time to unleash your inner juvenile delinquent. Weren't you ever busted for graffiti in high school?"

"Never."

"Then you're missing out," he tells her.

She shakes her head but she's smiling. There's definitely more to Peter Quinn than meets the eye. She's been too preoccupied with other things to delve too deeply but one of these days, she's going to find out more about the man. 

"Your hands are tools to make a change," he tells her gravely even though his eyes are smiling.

"Another quote falsely attributed to Gandhi?" she guesses.

He shakes his head. "Peter Quinn," he tells her. He grins. 

"Quinn – do you think Fara would come with us?" she asks him abruptly.

His eyes widen as he considers the thought. "She'd certainly be a great addition to the team."

"I know. I trust her."

"So do I." He thinks about it for a moment. "I think she would if you asked her," he tells her and she nods. "Who else? Virgil and the mute?" He rolls his eyes as Carrie gives him a look. "Yes I know he's not a mute. We've actually had a few interesting conversations in that damned surveillance van."

"I need to get their clearance upgraded before I ask them … but yeah, I was thinking Virgil and Max as well."

"We're going to have to call you Hannibal soon."

"Does that make you Face the pretty one or Murdoch the crazy one then?" Carrie asks him, slanting a smile at him.

He glances at the watch on his right wrist. "OK – I'm giving you 15 minutes. If you're late, I get to pick dinner."

"I'll be on time," she assures him fervently. Eating this late, she definitely doesn't want a meal that's going to be making her wake up in the middle of the night groaning with reflux.

*

Carrie glances around the darkened lobby. Daryl, guard at the front desk recognises her as a regular and nods, although his attention is entirely focussed on the frantic texting he is doing on his cell. Lucy, the woman at the security counter is busy sorting through papers and barely acknowledges her.

Carrie crosses the floor of the lobby, her footsteps echoing in the empty darkness and she stands and stares at row upon row of stars. Each star represents a person who lived and died in the line of service. 

Glancing back and satisfying herself that Daryl and Lucy are still preoccupied with other things, Carrie slips her hand into her bag and pulls out the Sharpie. It doesn't take her long and she draws the outline of a star and quickly fills it in, the marker making no sound as it slides across the smooth, Vermont marble.

Brody's star is a little off-kilter, a little lop-sided in comparison to its evenly shaped, geometrically perfect brethren - something that seems strangely right. Carrie's face is pensive as she stares at Brody's only memorial.

Some might say that the life inside her is also a memorial to Brody but while the baby will be an ever-present reminder, she deserves to be her own person and not merely a keepsake or relic of the man who fathered her. It occurs to Carrie that Brody would have smiled at the sight of his defiantly imperfect star. For now, that seems to be enough and she walks outside slowly and deliberately, her thoughts far away.

She finds herself smiling at the man standing in the car park waiting for her. His hair is even more rumpled than usual as if he has been running his hand through his hair as he waited for her. He smiles back.

"Mission accomplished?"

She nods, adjusting the strap of her messenger bag across her shoulder. "Peter Quinn – I'll have you know – you are now an accessory before the fact to the defacement of a Federal building."

He grins smugly. "You'll never be able to prove it."

"Will you visit me in prison?"

He laughs. Then as she steps closer, he notices that her eyes are shining with tears despite her joking.

"You look like you need a hug."

"From _you_? Geez, get real Quinn," she scoffs quickly, rolling her eyes, her voice too emphatic.

"I didn't say that _I_ was offering the hug," he points out just as quickly and she laughs, steps forward at the same time he does and straight into his waiting arms. His arms go about her tightly as her cheek rests against his crumpled shirt front.

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply of his clean, masculine scent, of the citrus tang of his shaving lotion. 

The hug is awkward, her huge belly pressing against him but neither cares. He presses a light, friendly and completely unthreatening kiss to the top of her head - the way one comforts a child. The sharp kick from the baby inside of her makes Quinn flinch for a moment but he does not let go.

"Fuck," he mumbles.

"Weird huh?"

"Understatement. It's like you've got an alien inside you."

"No shit," she retorts and she tilts her head back to stare up at him. Quinn's eyes are dark and unreadable and he reaches up to brush the hair from her eyes.

"I liked it brunette, too," he remarks.

"That's actually my natural colour."

"Really?" he demands, feigning astonishment and she elbows him without any force. "Come on, dinner's on you, boss," he tells her.

Carrie's eyes turn very serious and she stares at him, her pupils dilated and her gaze very steady. She angles her head and presses her mouth against his firm mouth. Their lips cling for the slightest instant, hers soft and inviting and his cool, lips parting hungrily for the briefest taste before pulling away. Quinn steps back, arms dropping to his side as he stares down at her, his eyes dark with emotion.

"The fuck Quinn..." Carrie mutters, confused and more than a little embarrassed. 

"Not the time or the place. You're not ready yet - and you know it," he tells her gently even as he brushes her cheek lightly with his knuckles and his expression says everything he doesn't let himself say with words.

"I will be," she tells him firmly despite the tremulous quiver of her mouth and he nods and smiles.

"I know. Dinner's still on you, though."

"Asshole."

"Cheapskate."

They laugh and get into his car. At the lights, he turns his head and sees that she's looking at him with a bemused expression on her face.

He suspects she won't keep him waiting much longer. While Peter Quinn is a patient person, Carrie Mathison is not.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very last 'part' of this series is this fan video I made which you can see over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1144688).
> 
> For me, much of the Fragments series has been shaped by the fact that it's too soon for Carrie and Quinn to be together, that she needs time to heal, to get over Brody, to come to terms with her life ... While frustrating from a shipping perspective, I also loved the possibilities that gave to the relationship.
> 
> I enjoyed writing all of these fragments enormously. I also really enjoyed reading all of your comments - it was wondering having a conversation with fellow-fans about missing scenes. I will be writing other fics in the Homeland universe but this is the end of Fragments. Thanks again for reading. I really, really appreciate everyone who took the time to read it and in particular, I am so grateful to the people who took the time to leave comments/feedback :)


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